


Sunk

by gisellesaintclaire



Series: Saul Goodman and Associates [1]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: F/M, Gen, Set after BCS season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22755340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gisellesaintclaire/pseuds/gisellesaintclaire
Summary: In the weeks following Jimmy's reinstatement, Kim is forced to reevaluate everything she believed. It sends her down a path of doubt, anger, and hope... and pushes her to drastic decisions in the search for happiness.
Relationships: Jimmy McGill | Saul Goodman & Kim Wexler, Jimmy McGill | Saul Goodman/Kim Wexler
Series: Saul Goodman and Associates [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636084
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. Wednesday, March 24, 2004

“Oh, and sweetheart, I’m gonna need one more form, a DBA. ‘Cause I’m not gonna be practicing under the name McGill, so.”

And he began walking away from her. Kim reacted instinctively. “Wait, what? Wait, Jimmy! Jimmy! What?”

He did not slow down. Instead he turned back towards her, grinned, and pointed triumphantly. “It’s all good, man!“ Two more steps, and he had disappeared behind the corner.

It never even occurred to her to follow him. She could not move either way. All she could do was fight for breath as she felt herself being crushed under the sheer force of nature that was James Morgan McGill.

Or… Saul Goodman, apparently. The thought was almost as painful as the knowledge that she should have seen this coming. So many one-off remarks made sense now, so many subtle changes in his behavior suddenly became meaningful. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she realized he had become Saul Goodman long before today. Not with her, though–never with her. When they were alone he was still Jimmy: the down-on-his-luck disbarred attorney who was fighting tooth and nail to be reinstated, to be a lawyer again, to earn respect, to  _fit in_ . To be good enough for her. She loved him for that, although she would never tell him this. Whom she did not love, did not  _understand_ , was the person he was outside of their cozy little apartment. At first it had been easy to forgive him. She reminded herself that he was grieving for his brother, reeling from his disbarment, shocked by her accident; that his world had collapsed around him within a matter of weeks and that she was the only pillar still holding his sky. She was strong for him when she knew he was at his weakest. Grief works in mysterious ways. For a fleeting moment she had thought she could save him.

Now, as she stood forlorn under the cold lights in an empty hallway, Kim Wexler realized she had never stood a chance.

~ ~ ~

Jimmy–or was it Saul now?–reappeared after a couple of minutes, still beaming with joy and giving her the thumbs up with both hands. “Double barrel!” he exclaimed excitedly and waived his hands in front of her face. “Boom boom!”

Kim recoiled slightly and forced a smile on her face. “Double barrel. Yea.” Her voice was flat, void of emotion. “Did you–are you done in there?” She nodded vaguely towards the hallway.

Jimmy lowered his hands and looked at her for a moment, seemingly taken aback by her impatience. “Yeah, I mean… yeah. I, uh, filled out the forms, I crossed my Ts and dotted my Is, and now it’s time to celebrate!”

She wanted to say something right there, wanted to make some passive-aggressive remark that he was incapable of crossing Ts and dotting Is, but she swallowed her words. They left a bile taste in her mouth. To him, she said, “Sounds good. Moscow Mules at Forque? I can’t stay too long though, I have some Mesa Verde stuff at the office I have to get back to.”

Jimmy looked at her like a wounded animal. “You didn’t take the day off?”

_Christ_ . She had no patience to nurse his ego again. “It’s a phone conference. They would have had to reschedule the whole thing.” She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Come on. We’ll have a drink now, and then tonight we can go to a bar or something.” She walked towards the exit without bothering to see if he was following her.

Forque felt familiar and calming, like a haven in a storm. She was recognized immediately. “Ms. Wexler. It is good to see you. Table for two?”

“Yes, please, Hayley,” she replied with a warm smile. The hostess led her through the restaurant, past tables and memories. Over there, she had handed Howard a check for her remaining law school loans, praying he would not cash it. At the booth near the window, Rich Schweikart had first offered her a job. At the table near the bar, Giselle and Viktor had spun a tale about their online dating service and founded Ice Station Zebra Associates. He had come up with the name. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Hayley led them to a table and helped Kim into her chair. “The usual Moscow Mule?”

“Yes, two please.”

Jimmy let out an impressed whistle. “Look at you! Kim from the mailroom, wining and dining like Albuquerque’s royalty.” He smiled at her warmly, his blue eyes beaming with pride. “You’ve arrived, kiddo.”

It took her a moment to place the reference. “Kill Bill?”

He nodded, a wicked grin on his face. “ _That woman deserves her revenge… and we deserve to die,_ ” he rasped in his darkest voice.

“You’re not trying to tell me something, are you? You’re not going to murder Howard with a katana?”

He breathed a laugh. “No way am I that cool.”

They spend the next hour like this, making trivial chit chat. She was grateful for it as much as she resented it. That had always been their problem: Engrossed in a conversation flowing effortlessly, it was too easy, too tempting, to avoid speaking about anything real.

After an hour, she said goodbye to him and went back to the office.

She had been with Schweikart & Cokely for less than a year, but she already felt more loyalty to the firm than she had ever felt for Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill. She told herself that this was because Rich Schweikart had made her partner while Howard Hamlin had kept her tucked away in doc review, but deep down she knew that was only half the story. Because unlike at HHM, her colleagues at S&C saw her for who she was on her own. Here, she was Kimberly Wexler, attorney at law. At HHM, she had and always would have been defined in relation to Jimmy. Under Howard and Chuck’s watchful eyes she had evolved from being Jimmy’s colleague to his friend to his lover. Ultimately, she had become Jimmy’s collateral damage.

At S&C, Jimmy was far, far away. As the door to her office closed behind her, Kim felt as if she could breathe again. She let her gaze wander through this room that, lately, had felt more like home than her apartment. The afternoon light cascading through the high windows bathed her cherry wood furniture in an amber glow. Tiny particles of dust danced in the rays of the setting sun. Her couch, comfortable and welcoming, filled her office with the faint scent of leather. Across from it, the computer on her desk was whirring softly.

Kim stopped herself before her eyes fell on the ten statues of a cowboy on horseback, each representing another Mesa Verde branch successfully opened, reminding her of weeks of dedicated work, of too little sleep, of greasy take-out eaten hunched over the paperwork on her desk. She checked her watch: fifteen minutes until the phone conference. Settling into her chair, she slid off her pumps and spread the relevant files out in front of her. Maybe she had time for a five-minute nap before the phone rang.

Two hours later, as she hung up the phone, Kim asked herself why she had even bothered waking up. All in all she had spoken maybe three words before Kevin had interrupted her again, gushing about the newest branch they were planning in Utah. He had just come back from meeting a local artist, whom he had commissioned to sculpt another giant horse statue for the lobby. Kim shot an irritated look at her own miniature cowboys on horses and sighed deeply. If Kevin kept going this way, she would need another shelf. But that was not fair, she reminded herself quickly. Since Kevin had taken over Mesa Verde from his father, he had led the bank’s expansion with pride, passion, and a near-infallible sense for developing local and regional markets. Working as Mesa Verde’s legal counsel was an honor and a privilege, and Kim had no reason to be anything but grateful for the opportunity–however unorthodox she had gotten it.

She slid back into her pumps and winced as she felt the circulation in her toes restrict. It was a new pair, her most expensive to date, and uncomfortable as hell, but she refused to let this much money go to waste. She would fight through the pain until the leather had gone soft and supple, until the shoes had adjusted to her feet and she was as comfortable in her heels as she was barefoot. The few steps to Rich Schweikart’s office felt like walking through needles.

He was speaking into his Dictaphone, but paused when he saw her approach and gestured her to sit. “Kim, I haven’t seen you at all today! You just got off the phone with Mesa Verde?” Unlike so many lawyers Kim had met throughout her life, Rich seemed to have been born with a natural likeability. He genuinely seemed to care about other people. It made him a great colleague and an even greater boss.

“Yes, we hung up a few minutes ago,” Kim answered. “But I did not come in until this afternoon; I had taken the morning off.”

“Oh, of course! James had his reinstatement hearing, didn’t he? How did it go?” His hair had long turned to grey, but Rich’s memory was still as sharp as ever.

She swallowed hard and banished all emotion from her voice. “Good.” Under Rich’s table, her right hand clenched into a fist.

“So he got reinstated? I am glad to hear that.” Rich sounded genuinely happy. “I remember my first encounter with him, back when he was still working on the Sandpiper case. He sent my client a demand letter that he had written on toilet paper!” He chuckled as he recounted the memory. “And he gave me a hell of a hard time in court, before the case was given to HHM. Knocked each motion we filed right out of the park. I knew I hadn’t seen the last of him.” He smiled in his usual jovial manner. “The Albuquerque legal community is better with James in it.”

Her nails were digging deep into the skin of her palm. Kim clenched her fist even tighter and pressed out a smile. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Please do. Come on, now get out of here. You and James have enough reason to celebrate. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you, Rich. Have a nice night.”

On the drive back to Forque, Kim wondered for the umpteenth time why Jimmy was so…  _Jimmy_ . Could he not have stayed with Davis & Main? Their lives would be so different now. If he had never proposed Wexler McGill to her, she would have taken the job at Schweikart & Cokely the first time Rich offered. She would not have taken Mesa Verde with her–S&C had enough clients already–and she would have never focused on banking law. She might have done contract law or estate law instead, and on the weekends, she would have driven up to Santa Fe or Corrales to visit Jimmy. They would have ridden their horses in the sunset and barbequed on their patio, she would have been happy and content, and now she would have old horse shoes decorating her office instead of glass cowboys on horseback.

But he had left Davis & Main, and she had come with him, bet on herself and almost lost it all. She was lucky Rich had given her another chance. But then again, she had brought him Mesa Verde on a velvet pillow, and with it a quarter of a million in billings.  _Of course_ Rich had made her partner.

Lost in thought, she arrived at Forque and handed the valet her key. No sooner was she through the door than Jimmy rushed towards her, breathless. “Kim, I got a live one on the hook. Here’s what we do. I am here drowning my sorrows in booze, because my grandma just died. You’re the executer of her will, and you’ve agreed to meet me here to talk–”

She interrupted him, but it took a few seconds before he stopped talking. “Jimmy, what? Jimmy. Jimmy! No! We’re not doing that!” Her tone was cold as ice.

He hesitated for a second, building the argument in his head before he unleashed it. “Kim, come on! At least take a look at the guy, I mean, Jesus, if anyone deserve it, he’s the one. You should have seen him when he came in here, swaggering like he owns the place…” He continued summarizing the man’s behavior, remembering every drink order, his hands gesticulating wildly to emphasize particularly reprehensible aspects of the story. “Oh, and that hostess you were so friendly with, Hayley? He’s been staring at her the entire time, I mean, it’s disgusting! He’s disgusting. He needs to go down, Kim. Come on.” He reached for her hand, as if to drag her through the restaurant, to his victim, into his con.

Kim pulled her hand back. “That may be so, but we are not the ones to do it! Jimmy, you have been reinstated for four hours now, and already you are back to this!” She gestured disapprovingly towards the unsuspecting man.

“Yeah, so? It’s not like I’m gonna get caught or anything.”

She sighed. “Listen, I cannot stop you from doing this, but I am  _not_ participating.”

He fell silent for a moment. Kim steeled herself for another string of passionate arguments, brought forth at breakneck speed, but instead he just pressed his lips together for a moment, took a deep breath, and then said, “Okay.”

For half a heartbeat she felt sorry for him, but the feeling passed quickly. Suddenly she realized how tired she felt. “I’ve had a long day, Jimmy,” she said to take the sting out of her earlier words. “Let’s just have one more drink and go home.”

As she was lying in bed later, replaying the night in her head, Kim wondered what might have been if she had said yes to his con, if she had given into that rush that came from doing something forbidden with the man who had a gift for it. Here, in the darkness, listening to Jimmy’s steady breaths, she could not think of a single reason why she hadn’t done it.

She fought off the temptation to reach over, wake him up with a hungry kiss, and give herself to him until she sunk into an uneasy sleep.


	2. Tuesday, April 6, 2004

They had settled into anxious silence again, living side by side. Every morning Kim fled the apartment to bury herself in her work while Jimmy went looking for offices to rent. This time around, he seemed to have raised his standards, and most spaces did not fit his criteria. First he told her about his endeavors, but her thinly veiled disdain must have discouraged him, because as time progressed he shared less and less with her until they barely spoke at all. Whenever the silence felt too overwhelming, Kim turned to her Mesa Verde documents; whenever Mesa Verde felt too dreary, she turned to another PD case to distract herself. Her latest client was a boy named Cristóbal, who had been caught in the possession of cocaine. Allegedly. According to his case file he was barely eighteen, but when Kim met him, she thought he could pass as twelve: His brown eyes still held that childlike expression of innocence and wonder. Shoulder-length brown hair framed his face. His lanky frame was hidden under an old, washed-out shirt from a band Kim had never heard of. His jeans were well-worn and stained with motor oil, as were his hands; no doubt he had worked on his motorcycle before she had come by. He was still living with his parents and working part-time in his mother’s convenience store, so Judge Papadoumian had mercifully agreed he did not pose a flight risk and released him on bail, a concept Kim was now trying to explain to him.

“So, bail is meant to ensure that you turn up on your court date, which is…” she consulted with her file, “next week.” Cristóbal nodded and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. It stayed in place for a second and then fell into his face again. Kim smiled encouragingly and continued. “That is what’s called a preliminary hearing. The judge will decide if there is enough evidence to provide probable cause that you really did possess the cocaine with the intent to sell.”

Cristóbal nodded again. “And if yes, will I get sent to jail?”

“No,” Kim replied. “That would only mean that your case will go to trial. But I won’t let it get that far.”

The boy’s brown eyes widened in surprise. “You can do that?”

“Yes, I certainly can. There is no evidence that you even _knew_ the coke was in your bike’s saddlebag. Your fingerprints weren’t even on the drugs.”

He smiled enigmatically. “So anyone could have put them there.”

“Exactly.” Kim was impressed how quickly Cristóbal was thinking. “So all you have to do on Friday is show up, okay? Take a shower. Shave. Wear decent clothes. Be polite.” She paused before adding, “And let me do all the talking.”

Back at the office, Kim found it hard to focus on her Mesa Verde files; too often she caught herself merely staring at a document while her thoughts returned to Cristóbal. Try as she might, she could not forget how his bright, intelligent eyes had fixated on her lips whenever she spoke, intently listening to every word she said. He had been polite, too, had said _please_ and _thank_ _you_ and _yes_ _Ma’am_ … how could this smart young kid have gotten involved in this world of drugs and crime in the first place?

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. Kim shot upright. “Yes?”

Rolando, her secretary, opened the door. “A Mr. Clarke is here to see you? He says it’s about the Mesa Verde board meeting next week?”

Panic spread out in her. Mr. Clarke? Board meeting?  _Shit shit shit._ She had no idea what he was referring to. Frantically digging through the paperwork on her desk, she asked Rolando to send the guest in.

The man entering her office was in his sixties and wore a black pair of jeans with a dark grey polo shirt. His awake, blue eyes did not give away his age, and he quickly scanned the room on his way to her. She had definitely seen him before, but she could not remember where. Kim got out of her chair and walked towards him with an outstretched hand. “Mr. Clarke! It’s good to see you again, what can I do for you?”

The man put down his briefcase and shook her hand. “Do you want me to take a seat right here, or over there?” He gestured between the couch and her desk.

“Couch is fine,” Kim replied, “Can I offer you a glass of water?”

“I’m good,” grunted her guest and sat down. He did not seem like a man of many words.

Kim took a seat across from him. “Then what can I do for you?”

“You’re very polite, I gotta say,” Mr. Clarke began. “You are probably wondering what the fuck it is I want.”

Kim smiled nervously. “I assume you came here to tell me that.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, let me begin by telling you, I am not from Mesa Verde, and there is no board meeting. Or maybe there is one, but none that I am concerned about. So I highly suggest investing in office security. It should not have been that easy for me to be alone with you.” He did not let her respond to that. “Second of all, and the reason why I am here: Cristóbal Sanchez.” He stopped talking and looked at her so intensely Kim was not sure if he was mentally undressing her or planning her murder. Probably the latter. She wondered if she should ask him to leave, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“What about him?” There was a letter opener on her desk, she could probably use that to defend herself if he came too close. He was old; he probably wasn’t very fast.

“An associate of mine has asked me to speak to you about his defense. He is rather invested in the boy’s future and would not like him to go to jail.”

Kim shrugged. “As his defense counsel, I would not like him to go to jail either.”

Mr. Clarke nodded. “Good. Then I suspect you’ll have no problem taking this.” He handed her his briefcase. Kim was so perplexed that she took it. “Go ahead, open it.” She hesitated. “It’s not a bomb,” her guest assured her.

With trembling fingers, she let the first clasp snap open and waited for the explosion. When nothing happened, she let out a deep breath she had not realized she was holding, and opened the second clasp. Then, tentatively, she lifted the lid…

and slammed the briefcase shut again. “What is this, a bribe?”

The man waved his hand dismissively. “Think of it as an expression of gratitude.”

Kim pointedly pushed the briefcase back to Mr. Clarke. “This is a bribe, and I want nothing to do with it. Besides, bribing his defense attorney? What’s the point? Why doesn’t your…” she did little to mask the contempt in her face, “ _associate_ at least attempt bribing the judge? Or the DA?”

Her guest shrugged. “I have been instructed to hand this money to you. My associate has heard good things about you, and he trusts in your abilities.”

Kim snorted. “If he trusted in my abilities, then why would he want to bribe me?”

“Again with the bribe!” Mr. Clarke rolled his eyes. “Listen, nobody’s bribing anybody around here. You would have defended the kid with or without the money, wouldn’t you? My associate merely wants to ensure the boy has the best defense money can buy.”

“Then I recommend Beatrice Fox and Associates. They are an exceptional law firm specializing in criminal law, with a stellar track record.” Kim stood up to usher Mr. Clarke out of her office.

The man made no move. “Hiring an expensive legal counsel would only draw attention to the case. It would invite questions.  _Who is that kid? How can he afford Beatrice Fox?_ Then the cops would start snooping around again, trying to find the source of that money. My associate would not appreciate that.”

_So this is drug money?_ Kim eyed the briefcase suspiciously. “Be that as it may. As I have already promised, I will give Cristóbal the best defense I am capable of, not because you have paid me to do so, but because he deserves it. Now if you could take that briefcase with you when you leave, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Suit yourself,” he responded, took the briefcase, and walked out the door before Kim could change her mind.

Shaking, Kim sat on her couch where Mr. Clarke had sat moments ago.  _What the fuck?_ Had that really just happened? She needed a smoke.

Seconds after she had lit the cigarette, her phone rang. She checked her display and sighed.  _Will I not get a moment of peace and quiet? Is that too much to ask?_ Taking another drag from her cigarette, she answered the phone. “Hey Jimmy, what’s up?”

“Kim!” He sounded giddy and excited, like a boy who had eaten too much candy. “Guess what! I finally found an office!”

Kim smiled before she could stop herself. “That’s great, Jimmy.” She meant it.

“Hey, when are you leaving the office? Do you wanna come by and check it out? I’m already here, just signed the lease.”

She thought about it for a moment and then realized she would not get any more work done anyway, not after Mr. Clarke. “Give me the address. I’m on my way.”

It was close to court and had enough parking spaces… but that was the only good things Kim could say about Jimmy’s new office. She got out of her car, crossed her arms, and took it all in. “It’s in a strip mall.” Maybe it was less horrific on the inside. 

“Yeah it is!” Jimmy exclaimed.

Kim raised an eyebrow. “And, what, your clients are going to… come here?” She had her doubts about that.

If he took note of her skepticism, he ignored it. “Well, you gotta see the inside.” He followed her into the office. “So this is the waiting room. Very non-threatening, right? Because I thought, if I was a petty criminal, you know, say I stole some old lady’s purse, would I want to go into a fancy law firm chock-full of 300-dollar-suits to get legal representation? Nooooo.” He dragged the word as if it he had just explained the most obvious concept to her. “I’d wanna, you know, go to this low-key office next to my favorite sports bar, because that’s less intimidating.”

She could not help but admire his way of thinking. “Democratic.”

“Yes!” Jimmy pointed at her as if she had just given the correct answer on a game show. “So here is where my clients are gonna sit. We’ll have coffee for them, tea, maybe play some tunes…” He trailed off. “And here…” Jimmy walked across the room and opened another door. “Here is gonna be my office.”

Kim stepped into the room and was surrounded by darkness. “It’s dark,” she noted.

“Just wait a minute,” Jimmy’s voice came out of the void. “Hang on… Where is it… Just–ha!” He plugged a lamp into an outlet, and the room was dimly lit.

It was… Kim searched for words to describe what she was seeing. She came up with nothing. It was a room. Four walls and a door.  _Literally_ . “Not to be a buzzkill or anything, but where are the windows?” She tried to sound chipper and probably failed.

“They will come!” Jimmy promised excitedly. He knocked against the wall opposite the door. “Hear that? That’s just plaster.”

She looked at him, a blank expression on her face. “And… that’s a good thing?”

“Yes!” he explained. “Because, see, that wall is not bearing any load. So I take this wall down, and I thought I could maybe have a little nook right here, where my desk would be–” he gesticulated wildly to indicate his future workspace, “and then the wall can kind of circle me, you know? And, of course, there will be windows.”

The smile on her lips did not reach her eyes. “I guess I’ll believe it when I see it.” Kim knew she was unsupportive. But she had been supportive of him for so long now… she needed a break.

At home, she wondered if she should tell Jimmy about Mr. Clarke, but decided against it. He was gone, the money was gone, it was over. There was no point in talking about it. Jimmy sat down to watch a rerun of  _A Streetcar Named Desire_ , and she excused herself and went to bed early. Halfway through the movie, she heard him leave the apartment without saying goodbye. He came back at three in the morning smelling of smoke and liquor, but she stayed silent as he snuck into bed next to her. Jimmy planted a soft kiss on her head, and Kim pretended to roll over in her sleep so she could put a hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat.


	3. Wednesday, April 7, 2004

_Dear Ms. Williamson:_

_It is our pleasure to submit this letter of intent to pursue land use and related approvals for the redevelopment of the 1714 square feet property in the city of Monticello at 765 Maple Street, Monticello, Utah, currently owned and operated by Gould & Campbell, LLC._

_**Project Summary** _

_The project will include one two-story commercial building to serve as the premises of the new Mesa Verde Bank and Trust Monticello branch. The project will be compromised of approximately–_

How many letters like this had she typed up since taking over Mesa Verde? Ten? Twelve? Kim sighed and shot a glance at her cowboy statues again. Flagstaff, Arizona. Tucumcari, New Mexico. Pueblo, Colorado. Amarillo, Texas. Tulsa, Oklahoma. Wichita, Kansas. And the one that had started it all…

_1261 Rosella Drive._

On impulse, Kim stood up from her desk and walked to her shelf. She had arranged her Mesa Verde statues chronologically–and by the emotions they evoked in her whenever she looked at them. In the far back, hidden behind the other statues, was the one she was looking for. The first one. With trembling hands, Kim pulled it forward and let her fingers run over the engraving.  _Scottsdale, Arizona._ It still sent a shudder down her spine. She held the statue in her hand and let the guilt wash over her for as long as she could stand it.

_He did this to you._ The thought was a familiar one. She still had not really forgiven Jimmy for doctoring Chuck’s files. She knew he had only done it for her… but she had never asked him to. She had never wanted him to. And it had set in motion a chain of events that, as far as Kim was concerned, was still ongoing. He never would have broken into Chuck’s house if he had not had to destroy the tape. He never would have lost his license. He never would have become Saul Goodman… And if she and Jimmy hadn’t torn him down at Jimmy’s bar hearing, Chuck never would have killed himself, she was certain of that. Inside her leather pumps, Kim’s toes dug themselves into the ground to fight off the feeling of pins and needles spreading in her feet. There was no going back now, no undoing it. Now, all she could do was learn to live with the consequences. She had to learn to accept the fact that Jimmy left her in the middle of the night to go god-knows-where, that their relationship was slowly dying or might as well already be dead. Kim felt red-hot tears stinging her eyes and blinked them away angrily. Maybe, after what she had done, had let happen, she did not deserve to be happy. She tucked the statue out of sight again and turned back to her computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as if independent from her brain.

_1216 Maple Street, Monticello, Utah._

1216\. One after Magna Carta.

She stared at her screen for a moment, willing herself to believe that she had truly done this. She could change it again, of course, fill in the correct address and move on. Maybe get started on that application for the building permit. But she kept staring at the screen without moving. The blinking cursor was hypnotic.  _There. Gone. There. Gone. There. Gone. There. Gone._ How long had she been staring now?  _There. Gone. There. Gone. There. Gone._ Her right index finger hovered over the backspace key.  _Just push it. Just four times. Come on. You can do it._ There was absolutely no reason for her not to change it. There was absolutely no reason for her to hesitate to change it. There was absolutely no reason… except that she really, definitely, unquestionably, did not want to.  _There. Gone. There. Gone. There. Gone._

Maybe she owed Chuck this much. Or maybe she really did not care.

The address still unchanged, Kim took her hand from the keyboard and put it on her mouse. Her eyes widened in shock and surprise as she watched herself save the file, attach it to an email, and type a quick text to Paige.

_Hi Paige–_

_attached please find the letter of intent for the MV Monticello branch. As always feel free to call me with any questions or remarks._

_Best,_

_K_

Then, she hit sent.

Her heart was pounding madly in her chest.  _What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?_ The room began spinning, her vision went dark. Kim grabbed the edge of her desk for balance, took a deep breath, and banished the demons crawling into her mind.  _It doesn’t matter_ , she told herself.  _Someone will catch that mistake before the court hearing._ She did not know whether she should be disappointed or relieved about that. On her desk, her hands clenched into fists, and suddenly she had to resist the urge to pound them into the table. The muscles in her entire body tensed. Every breath had to fight its way into her lungs. Annoyed at herself, Kim let out a visceral growl, stood up from her desk, and began shaking her arms and legs to rid her body of the tension and her mind of the guilt. After ten seconds, she felt the energy beginning to course through her limbs. After twenty seconds, she felt almost like herself again. In the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of Cristóbal’s case file, hidden underneath a blueprint of the new Mesa Verde branch in Monroe, Louisiana. With a sigh of relief, Kim rolled up the blueprint, tucked it out of sight, and reached out for the manila folder that would determine Cristóbal’s future.

It seemed like five minutes later when Rich Schweikart’s voice broke the silence in her office. “Kim! Jesus, are you still here?”

She looked up at him and saw total darkness. “Yes, I–Rich? Uh, could you turn on the light for me?”

“Your wish is my command,” he chuckled and flipped the light switch. “Hey, next time don’t wait for me to illuminate you, okay? You’ll hurt your eyes if you keep working by the light of that lamp on your desk. What is that, like 12 watts?”

Kim had to blink to adjust to the sudden brightness in her office. “Yeah, something like that. I must have forgotten the time.”

“It’s nine thirty,” Rich informed her. “I’m on my way out. As should you be! Jesus, Mesa Verde isn’t worth losing sleep over.” He playfully waved his index finger as if to scold her.

Kim crossed her arms, put them on her desk and leaned forward to hide Cristóbal’s case file. She had promised Rich her PD work would not take up more than five hours a week. This week alone, she had spent eight hours on Cristóbal, and it was only Wednesday. “You’re right. I’ll finish up in here and will be right behind you.”

“Good,” her boss replied with a wink. “You are still young, enjoy the night while you can! I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow!”

_He is right_ , Kim thought. _I should enjoy myself_ . And there was only one place in Albuquerque where that was possible.

Forque seemed so different at night, almost as if it was another restaurant. But the waiters knew her all the same, and her drink order. “Ms. Wexler, it’s good to see you. Your Moscow Mule is on its way.”

She ordered a steak, too, medium rare. If anyone asked, she would tell them it was because Forque had the best steaks in the city, and besides, she had only had a salad for lunch. But deep down, Kim knew she had ordered the steak because it reminded her of home. Somehow, everything had been so much easier in Nebraska. Now, for the first time ever, she found herself missing that simplicity. Unexpectedly, her thoughts returned to AJ, and Kim realized she had not thought about him in years. Was he still running the gas station? Probably; he had never been very ambitious. As long as he had enough money to buy ammo, he was happy. The faintest ghost of a smile appeared on her lips as she remembered driving his pickup up to the abandoned shed by his uncle’s farm for target practice. She had always aimed slightly to the left, to let him think he was the better shot. Kim wondered if he had changed the combination to his gun locker since then, or if it was still her birthday. Lost in thought, she scratched her left ring finger, as if an old wound had begun to itch again.

“Ms. Wexler? The gentleman at the bar has asked me to let you know that your next drink will be on him.”

Abruptly, she was pulled back into the present and saw her waitress standing before her, smiling encouragingly and waiting for Kim’s response. She reacted on impulse. “Uh, yeah. Yes. Another Moscow Mule, please.”

Not wanting to seem too eager, Kim slowly counted until twenty before she let her gaze wander towards the bar. There, at the far end, a man raised his wine glass in recognition. His face was half-hidden in the shadows, the cold light emanating from behind the bar casting his silhouette in an eerie glow. There was something mysterious and fascinating about him, although she could not be sure what it was. Kim smiled and nodded in his direction:  _Thanks for the drink._

Taking her cue, the stranger stood up from his barstool, every move perfectly measured, every step towards her radiating elegance. He was a bit shorter than she had expected he would be, but that did nothing to negate his good looks. She supposed he was in his early fifties, although from the neck down, he could have passed as thirty-five. A dark-grey suit–handmade, no doubt–accentuated his lean physique, and the collar of his shirt was unbuttoned ever so slightly, enough to lend his appearance an air of nonchalance, not enough to make him seem like a douchebag. He smiled once he reached her, unveiling perfect teeth, and gestured to the seat across from her. “May I?” His blue eyes were mesmerizing.

Kim felt herself blush under his gaze. “Please.”

He sat down gracefully, and Kim took a moment to study his face. It had an old-world sophistication to it that Kim had only seen in her favorite movies before. He had full, soft lips, a perfectly straight nose, and impossibly long eyelashes. In the dim light surrounding them, the grey streaks in his full, salt-and-pepper hair shone like silver. Kim wondered what it would feel like to let her hands run through it.

“My name is Connor,” the mysterious stranger introduced himself.

Kim pushed her thoughts aside. “Giselle.” She had no idea why she wanted to tell him her real name so badly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Giselle,” the man said. He spoke with a slight accent Kim could not quite place.

Before Kim could respond, the waitress appeared with her drink. Kim thankfully took the copper mug and distracted herself by stirring the ice. Connor took notice. “Moscow Mule. That’s a very old-fashioned drink,” he noted dryly.

Kim wasn’t sure if he was complimenting or mocking here. She decided to rise to the challenge. “Maybe I’m a very old-fashioned woman,” she retorted with a smile full of mischief.

Connor chuckled. “That remains to be seen.”

She stayed silent for a moment and took a sip of her cocktail while Connor let the wine swirl in his glass. She eyed him over the brim of her mug, and he winked at her when he noticed it. “I do not mean to intrude, Giselle,” he said with a sly smirk, “but I could not help but notice you touching your left ring finger earlier.”

_Creep._ Kim felt her eyebrows furl in disapproval. “From the back of the bar? You must have been paying close attention.”

He stayed perfectly calm, his eyes resting on her lips. “Extraordinarily.” The hint of a smile played around his mouth. His confidence bordered on cockiness. The aura of mystery that had so intrigued her at first was beginning to crumble before her eyes.

Feigning a sudden burst of melancholia, Kim lowered her eyes. “My divorce was finalized today.” She had no idea where the lie had come from.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I am sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” Kim said. “But it was a long time coming. We hadn’t been us for a while.” _The best lies always have an element of truth to it._

Connor nodded. “I understand that. We do not have to talk about it.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Kim reassured him. “It helps to talk things through, you know? Get it out of your system.”

“Then let me be all ears.”

Kim took another sip of her drink to buy herself a moment to strategize. This was harder than Jimmy made it look. “He cheated on me,” she began. That was a good start, cliché yet believable.

Connor pursed his lips. “What an idiot. He could not possibly have found a woman more beautiful than you.”

_Hooked_ . Kim fought back a triumphant smile and did her best to look scorned. “Maybe not. But less complicated? Yes.”

She settled into the lie like one settles into a comfortable chair: sure and familiar, bold and confident, spinning a tale of betrayal and heartbreak and divorce proceedings across two continents. “This was never about his money,” she let Connor know after her fourth drink. “I never wanted his money; I have enough money of my own.” She could tell that she had him in the palm of her hand at that point. “This was about land.”

He sat up slightly. “Your land in South Africa?”

“Yes,” Giselle said a little too loudly, the alcohol seemingly beginning to have its effect on her. “My land and my mines.” She looked at him, daring him to ask.

He did. “Mines?”

She took her time before answering, drinking deep. The vodka sent a wave of heat through her body as the ginger beer stung her throat. It was the most exhilarating feeling. “It’s such a stupid coincidence! While Viktor and I were still married I decided to renovate my house, you know? I mean–I wasn’t living there, I was living with Viktor, but I thought, why not, it’s a little project to keep myself busy. Long story short, it turned out my house has been sitting on a diamond deposit all those years. It’s roughly 3.7 million carats, apparently,” She drunkenly waved a hand through the air, as if to dismiss the insignificantly small number. “Of course, my contractor immediately tells me, ‘Giselle, forget about the house, start mining these,’ but I just say, ‘Why should I? They aren’t going anywhere. Besides, do you know how long I have been waiting for that wood paneling to be shipped over from Asia?’” She laughed an inebriated laugh. “Anyway, because the diamonds were discovered while Viktor and I were still married, he wanted his cut. But those diamonds have been in my family for generations. No way was I gonna let that happen. But now that I am rid of the sucker… I might actually start thinking about mining.” She let the sentence hang in the air like a promise.

Two drinks later, Connor had invested one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in Giselle Saint Claire’s land in South Africa and acquired twenty-five percent of the mining rights.

When Kim got home later that night, Jimmy was already sound asleep. She stood in front of their bed for a moment, listening to his steady breath and admiring how handsome he looked in the soft moonlight. Somewhere deep inside her she yearned for this man, this stubborn, difficult, explosive, brilliant man. But everything was so complicated. She wanted to fix things, but she did not know how, and it had become so easy just to live with the ever-expanding cracks and ignore that once they reached their foundation, everything would collapse around them.

Tonight, however, she needed rest. Careful not to wake him, she climbed into bed, pushed through the unspoken words between them and snuggled into him. He would never know she had found comfort in his arms tonight. Tomorrow, she told herself, she could continue being mad at him, and everything would go back to the way things had always been between them: messed up, and beautiful, and broken.

The check, she had taped to the bathroom mirror. It was made out to Ice Station Zebra Associates.


	4. Thursday, April 8, 2004

The shrill beeps of her alarm clock came far too early. Kim groaned and whacked the off button, her eyelids still heavy with sleep.

Next to her, Jimmy began untangling himself from the sheets. “Good morning,” he grumbled, his raspy voice even deeper and darker in the morning. Kim hummed noncommittedly in response and sat up, trying to get her brain to wake up alongside her body while silently cursing herself. She had come home far too late last night.

In the bathroom, she could hear Jimmy turn on the faucet to brush his teeth. Kim pushed away her drowsiness, stood up in one fluent motion while trying not to faint, and made her way to the bathroom herself. At the door, she almost collided with Jimmy, who had come back to the bedroom, a piece of paper in his hand.

_Oh… right_ . The memory rushed back to her, and with it the thrill of her victory.  _Giselle scammed a guy last night._ As her eyes darted to the check in his hand, Kim felt a wave of adrenaline surge through her veins. There it was: proof that Giselle was just as good as Viktor, just as cunning, just as slick.

“Kim, what–” he began asking, but before he could finish his question, she had closed the distance between them and thrown herself into his arms, kissing him hungrily. For half a heartbeat he was caught off guard, but then she felt his hands on her body, pulling her closer. She held his face in her hands as he returned the kiss, and the feeling of his lips on hers set her body aflame with sheer euphoria. Her hands moved to the collar of his shirt and she forcefully turned him around without breaking their kiss before pushing him on their bed, where he landed on his back, breathless. In an instant Kim was there again, climbing on top of him, picking up the kiss. Her hair was falling loosely into their faces, and he let his fingers run through it and pulled it back, his touch making her shiver with pleasure.

“You’ll be late for work,” he reminded her, his lips still on hers, his voice reverberating in her mouth.

“I don’t care,” Kim muttered between two kisses and grabbed the hem of his shirt. In one fluent motion, she pulled it over his head and threw it behind her where it landed crumpled on the floor, forgotten as soon as it touched the ground.

~ ~ ~

She was ninety minutes late for work that day, her usually curled ponytail merely held back in her neck by a simple hair clip, her makeup hastily applied in the car. But despite her disheveled appearance (or maybe because of it), Kim felt like a rock star.

The feeling quickly faded when she bumped into Rich Schweikart on the way to her office. He did not look happy at all. “Kim!” he addressed her, mock surprise in his voice. “How good of you finally to grace us with your presence.”

Kim felt the blood rush to her cheeks and cast her eyes down at the floor, where her gaze landed on her pumps. This morning, she could make out the first, small creases in the new leather. She took a deep breath and looked into her boss’s eyes again. “I am deeply sorry, Rich. There was a power outage in my building last night while I was asleep, and it reset my alarm clock,” she lied expertly. “It will not happen again. Please accept my apologies.”

“Your apologies are not necessary,” Rich stated matter-of-factly, and his words made Kim feel as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. “But next time, turn your phone on, for God’s sake! We must have left you at least fifteen messages.” The weight fell back on her chest, pressing the air out of her lungs and sending hot shame through her body. Rich continued. “There was a mistake in the Mesa Verde documents. First thing this morning, as soon as I had stepped into my office, Paige called to tell me. I was still wearing my coat!”

_1216\. One after Magna Carta._

Kim did her best to look surprised. “A mistake? Rich, I don’t know what to say. I am mortified. I will get right on that.” She began hurrying down the hall to her office.

Rich called after her. “We already fixed it!” Kim froze in her tracks and slowly turned back towards her boss. “We tried reaching you, but when you didn’t show, Stef took care of it. She said there was an address wrong?” He paused to wait for her response, but Kim stayed silent. Inside of her, she felt irrational anger towards Stef welling up like grime in a dirty drain. When Kim did not answer him, Rich said, “Stef is a fine attorney, don’t you think? She is really pulling her weight.” He smiled an impressed smile, apparently back to his usual jolly self.

Kim nodded. “Yeah, no, she’s great.”

Rich did not seem to notice her inner turmoil. “Anyway, Kim, we all make mistakes. Don’t worry about it. But next time, maybe double-check. And have your phone on. Oh, and you should give Paige a call. She did not sound happy this morning.”

“I’ll get right on that,” she promised him.

Kim’s fingers were shaking as she dialed Paige’s number.  _What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?_ Kim had no explanation for her mistake. Could she even call it a mistake? Or had it become more than that? Was it sabotage? She quickly pushed the thought out of her mind. She just hadn’t been herself lately. Jimmy’s bar hearing, the mysterious visit by Mr. Clarke, that dingy hole Jimmy had chosen as his office and the gaping space looming between them that seemed to grow wider and wider with each thought unmentioned, every word left unsaid… it just had been a lot. Recently, she had just been a little… off. Paige would understand that… wouldn’t she?

But Paige did not sound very understanding when she picked up the phone. “Kim! What the hell?”

Kim’s stomach coiled itself into painful knots. She swallowed hard to keep her fear from rising up inside her. “Paige, I am so sorry. I don’t know what–”

“ _1216_?” Paige interrupted her, her irritation palpable though the receiver. “What was that, a joke?”

Kim weighed her options for a second, debating how to answer. Paige had to know it was the same mistake Chuck had made, so Kim could not chalk it up to a transposition error. She decided the best defense was still a good offense. “I cannot explain it. I must have thought about Chuck while working on the documents.”

“Well, clearly,” Paige snorted.

“Again, let me–”

Paige interrupted her again. “And then we tried reaching you and you did not answer! _Again_! Do I need to remind you that you promised us Mesa Verde would be your sole focus? Kim, we have already been through this!”

The worst part of it all was how absolutely right Paige was. Kim had behaved inexcusably unprofessionally. Again. And for what? She didn’t even know. Kim had never felt so disappointed in herself. She wanted to curl up into a ball and lock out the world and feel sorry for herself. Instead, she took three deep breaths while she waited for Paige to finish reprimanding her. Each of Paige’s words cut like only the truth could.

“Kim, you took us to Schweikart & Cokely because you said the associates would help you focus on Mesa Verde, but clearly nothing has changed. This is the second serious mistake you’ve made, and the second time you were unreachable to correct it! Frankly, I am beginning to rethink our business relationship. I need to know that Mesa Verde is a top priority for our legal counsel, and you have not given me that feeling lately.”

_Shit shit shit_ . For a moment Kim considered telling Paige about the Lubbock Branch, about what she had done–but what could she have said?  _Jimmy and I drove to Texas and scammed the Department of Building Safety. We got the clerk to approve entirely different blueprints than the ones we had submitted, just so Kevin could get his eye-catching building. I pretend to be a single mom with a sprained ankle, and Jimmy pretended to be my deadbeat brother who locked my baby in his car. We did that. For Mesa Verde. That’s how important your bank is to me._

But that was forbidden knowledge. She could lose her license if anyone found out. And it was too absurd to seem believable anyway. So Kim just said, “It will not happen again.” The anxiety in her voice was impossible to ignore. “Please extend my sincerest apologies to Kevin as well.”

Paige hung up without another word.

Defeated, Kim put down her phone. Why had she done this? For what? A part of her wanted to blame Jimmy, just pass all responsibility on to him. Familiar thoughts began roaming her mind like a predator hunting for prey.  _If Jimmy had not…_ But this time, Kim stopped herself before she could succumb to these thoughts. This time, Jimmy had nothing to do with this. She had made that mistake, she alone. She was an adult; she had made a choice. A wrong, stupid, horrible choice. But now it was behind her. Now she would focus on Mesa Verde, cross her Ts, dot her Is, and remind Paige and Kevin why she had been the right choice all along, why she was the best outhouse counsel Mesa Verde ever had. She would save herself, like she had done so often.

Over the next hours, Kim fell into a frenzy of activism. She finished three letters of intent, two applications for building permits, and researched and broke down the Texan loan-to-deposit ratios by county. Determined to catch up and exceed her daily tasks, she decided to work through her lunch break and stay late–anything to make her feel like herself again. Her hectic activity was interrupted when Rich Schweikart’s head poked through her door. Kim invited him into her office.

“Rich, let me reiterate how deeply sorry I am. I will work tirelessly to ensure there are no more mistakes in the Mesa Verde files. And I’ll keep my phone on day and night.” She looked at him, an earnest expression on her face to show how serious she was.

Rich nodded in approval. “Good. I think that will soothe some troubled waters over at Mesa Verde.” When she did not immediately respond, he reached over her desk and put his hand on her forearm that was resting next to her keyboard, like a father reassuring his daughter she would not longer be grounded for a past mistake. “Kim, don’t be too hard on yourself. You are one of the best attorneys I’ve ever met. I mean that. If you put your mind to it, Mesa Verde will have no reason to complain again.”

Kim looked at his hand for a moment, still resting on her forearm. It was such a warm gesture, so encouraging. It made her mistake seem that much harder to forgive. She had not only endangered herself and Mesa Verde’s Monticello expansion, but Rich Schweikart and his firm as well. And that even though Rich had been nothing but kind and supportive. Kim saw into his eyes and nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Rich.”

He patted her arm before pulling back his hand. “Hey, while we’re on the subject–did you hear about Ruth Bruckner?”

Kim’s eyes narrowed in surprise for a moment. “The… banking lawyer? From that law firm that keeps adding names to their list?” She had never been able to remember them all, she would not try it now.

Rich chuckled. “Pierce, Wendell, Gardiner, Gardiner & Brucker.”

“You’d think Pierce & Wendell would suffice,” Kim quipped. “What about her?”

“She got snatched by Howard,” Rich told her.

“ _Hamlin_?” Kim asked, surprised.

“The one and only. Apparently, he is completely rebuilding HHM’s banking division. It seems to have withered a bit since Chuck’s death, but Howard is hell-bent on rejuvenating it.”

“Good for him,” Kim replied, her mind still occupied with Ruth. “That must have been quite the deal, though. Her name was on the freaking building!”

“This is through the grapevine, of course,” Rich conceded, “but I heard he fought tooth and nail for her.” He thought about it for a moment. “It seems like HHM is making a grand comeback.”

“It seems like that,” agreed a baffled Kim, still trying to process the information. Suddenly, she heard Paige’s voice echoing in her mind. _Frankly, I am beginning to rethink our entire business relationship!_ As if the odds were not high enough already. “I’ll be on the lookout,” she promised Rich.

“Don’t worry about it, Kim,” Rich said and got up. “I know what you are capable of when you throw yourself into it.”

He left Kim sitting at her desk, lost in thoughts. It looked as if she seriously had to step up her game.


	5. Friday, April 9, 2004

“Petty with a prior.” DDA Bill Oakley repeated, his tone bored.

Kim rolled her eyes at him. “Come on, Bill. Is this how you want to spend your lunch break? You know I’m not going away.”

He looked at her, visible exhaustion on his face. “No, you aren’t, are you.”

Kim pushed back her shoulders with determination. She would badger Bill for the entire afternoon, if that was what it took, but at the end of the day, Cristóbal would be a free man. “There is no evidence–” she began, but Bill interrupted her.

“Kim, I admire your enthusiasm, but let me get something to eat first. I brought a sandwich, but one of my colleagues must have eaten it, because it was not in the fridge when I checked.” He scoffed and muttered under his breath, “Assholes.”

Somehow, Kim found Bill Oakley’s continuous exasperation endearing. Throughout her career, the small, balding man with the obvious comb-over in his stained off-the-rack suits had been a constant companion, and whenever Kim saw him scurrying around the crowded hallways it almost felt as if she had stepped back in time and it was 1993 again, Kim fresh out of law school and nervously preparing for her first day in court. Since then, she had dealt with Bill more often than she could count, and every criminal lawyer in the county seemed to share this experience with her. Bill Oakley, without a doubt, was an institution in the Bernalillo County courthouse.

As Bill was hurrying to his favorite vending machine (third floor, east corridor), Kim hot on his heels, she asked herself how she should play her cards. It was past noon, and she still had some Mesa Verde contracts at the office that she had to double-check before sending them out to Paige and Kevin. She should probably hurry things along, get Bill to drop Cristóbal’s charges, and return to the office as soon as possible. But she knew Bill did not like being rushed to a decision whenever he spent his lunchbreak contentedly munching on a bag of chips under the whirring fluorescent lights. A pang of guilt spreading through her, Kim pushed Mesa Verde out of her mind and resigned herself to sharing a prepackaged snack with Bill on the bench next to the vending machine.

After some deliberation and a painstaking hunt for a dollar bill that was not too crumpled, Bill chose Smokey BBQ chips and dug in, spraying himself and her with tiny crumbs. Kim had to resist the urge to brush them off his collar. She estimated Bill must be in his early fifties, but there was something childlike and clumsy about him all the same. They ate in silence for a moment, looking straight ahead at the wall in front of them, and Kim granted him this moment of tranquility before she began her pitch.

“Cristóbal Sanchez,” she reminded him, the sad rest of her mediocre sandwich stuffed into her purse. “He’s innocent.”

“You couldn’t let me enjoy the rest of these?” Bill sighed and accusingly waved his bag of chips through the air. “Fine. What about him?”

“He’s innocent,” Kim repeated matter-of-factly.

Bill’s laughter sounded slightly hysterical. “Innocent? They found a key of coke in his possession! Last time I checked, that was a crime.”

“First of all, it wasn’t a key. Jesus, you make it sound like it was a felony quantity, which it was not,” Kim scolded him. “Second of all, it was found in his saddlebag. His fingerprints weren’t on it. He didn’t even know it was there! Anyone could have put it there.”

“So?”

“So?” Kim repeated, her eyebrows raised. “So you’ll have a hell of a hard time proving that Cristóbal had anything to do with it.”

Bill stared at her as if she had just told him his next client was from Mars. “You have  _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Nope,” Kim said gleefully. “Innocent until proven guilty, Mr. Oakley.”

Bill attempted to shrug his shoulders but then seemed to think it was a too exhaustive exercise, and instead slumped a little lower in his seat, a painful expression in his eyes. “Why are you even here, Kim? Are they not paying you enough at Schweikart & Cokely?”

Kim screwed up her face. “I fail to see the relevance of this.”

“They must have given you a sweet deal,” Bill muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. “And yet here you are! The regal Kim Wexler, descending into the bowels of this courthouse to treat with the hoi polloi…”

Kim was not sure whether to be flattered or affronted by this. “Is that not beside the point?” she asked Bill, a slight edge in her voice. “I am here to defend Cristóbal Sanchez.”

“I bet they gave you a ride, too,” Bill speculated dreamily. “Was it German? No, don’t tell me… I bet it was German.” He laughed contrivedly, as if to cache his obvious jealousy, and sat up straight again. “Okay. The Sanchez kid. Kim, you know I cannot let him off the hook that easily.”

“Okay,” Kim decided to change gears. “Brass tacks. What’s it gonna take?”

Bill threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “If I’m feeling generous? Eight months. Maybe halftime for good behavior.”

_Ridiculous._ Kim laughed at his offer. “For that insignificant amount of coke? You cannot be serious!”

“Oh, but I am,” Bill responded with a resolute nod.

“That’s never gonna happen,” Kim shot back. “You’ll have to meet me halfway here, Bill.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll take this to trial.”

“Oh, come on!” the attorney exclaimed in frustration. “In what world did you think that was a good idea?”

Kim smirked daringly. “Anyone could have put the coke in his saddlebag, okay?  _Anyone_ .” She stretched the last word like gum. “That includes the police officer who arrested him. And oh, look!” She pretended to notice something in her file. “Two years ago someone made a formal complaint against that very officer for misconduct, but somehow nothing ever happened. So I could shed a little light on that issue, if I wanted. I bet that would make the prosecution around here very popular,” she added sarcastically.

“What, you think your client was framed by his arresting officer? Like he’s OJ or something?” Bill shook his head in disbelief.

“It worked in his case,” Kim reminded him with a sweet smile. “So we’ll just have to wait and see what the jury says when we take this to trial. Or you could give me two months probation and call it a day.”

She could see Bill’s resolve slowly crumble. He thumbed through his case file again, scanning the pages to make sure he had all the facts, and then stared blankly into space as he thought about her offer. Kim used the opportunity to snatch a chip from his half-eaten bag.

Sighing deeply, Bill came to a decision. “Four months probation and you’ve got a deal.”

Kim could have jumped with joy, but she restrained herself. “Three.”

Bill closed his eyes dramatically and groaned. “Fine. Three. Whatever.”

No longer able to fight off her grin, Kim stood up. “You’re the best, Bill!”

He just looked up at her out of tired eyes, debating whether he should agree with her.

Kim rushed down the corridor to the elevator, her heels drumming a staccato on the tile floor that was echoing off the narrow walls. If she hurried, she could still make it back to the office in time and spend a few more hours on Mesa Verde. But first, she stopped by the clerk to ask for another client.

The public defenders’ office had continuous overflow, and Kim was happy to take a case off their hands every now and then to distract herself from her work at Schweikart & Cokely. Here, in the courtroom, the law somehow felt more real, more significant, than it had ever done in the conference rooms of her law firms. Here, Kim actually felt as if she could do something good. Here, she walked the hallways with purpose.

The clerk was on the phone and barely looked up when Kim knocked against the bullet proof glass separating her desk from the hallway. Unlike many courthouse employees who seemed to have been drained of their souls as the years went by, she had chosen to add her own unique touches to her workstation: the shelves behind her were overflowing with beanie babies, some of whose colors clashed horribly with the bright, flowery tunic she was wearing today. Her outfit, paired with her huge, pink-tinted glasses, gave her the appearance of a hippie owl. Kim waited patiently until the administrator had hung up the phone and shot her a fed-up glance. “Yes?”

“Hi, Kim Wexler with Schweikart & Cokely? I wanted to see if you have any cases I might relieve you of.”

The clerk frowned in response to Kim’s exceptionally good mood. “Hmm-hmm.” Then she pushed her chair back and rolled towards one of the shelves. “First degree arson, criminal use of a firearm in the first degree, felony burglary, aggravated assault,” she read aloud.

It sounded a lot more complex than her usual PD cases, but Kim was intrigued. She doubted she would be able to make this all go away by badgering Bill in the hallway again. This case sounded as if it might even go to trial. That meant arraignment, voir dire, jury selection…

Kim heard herself say “I’ll take it!” before she even realized she had made the decision. Her voice was reverberating with far too much enthusiasm.

The administrator looked at her. “Aren’t you at Schweikart & Cokely?”

“Yes,” affirmed Kim. “That’s what I just said.”

“Ma’am, are you aware that this case will be an enormous amount of work?”

“Yes,” Kim answered shortly.

“And are you aware that you will not be compensated accordingly?” The administrator had never been one for mincing words, but her bluntness surprised even Kim.

“Yes,” Kim replied again.

The other woman seemed confused for a moment, then rolled back to the counter and handed Kim the thick manila folder. “Well alright then. You asked for it.”

On her way to her car, Kim clutched the case file to her chest like a mother cradling her newborn baby. It was heavier than any PD paperwork she had ever gotten before. She could not wait to dig into it… but that had to wait. First, Mesa Verde. She was still not done clawing her way back into Paige’s good graces, and she would not allow herself another slip-up.

The doors to her Audi A8 (German, of course) unlocked audibly at the touch of her remote key. Kim slid into the soft leather seat behind the steering wheel, let her gaze longingly wander over the new case file in her lap, and then threw it decidedly on the passenger’s seat.

It landed on an open duffle bag filled with cash.

Kim’s entire body clenched, she jumped with fright, and immediately banged her head against the sunroof. Blind panic still rising inside her, she frantically reached for her door handle, broke a nail in the process, and threw herself against her door. It flew open and banged into a nearby bollard. Disheveled, Kim tumbled out of her car and landed on the floor on all fours. She got up panting and stared at her car in disbelief.  _What the fuck._

This must have been Mr. Clarke. Her mind began racing. He had offered her money before. But she had already gotten a deal for Cristóbal. So why bribe her now? Why bribe her at all? It did not make any sense. Was it even a bribe? She would have done the job regardless of the money. She  _had_ done the job. But that was not the issue here. The issue here was that someone had broken into her car… wasn’t it? What if they had planted a bomb in her car? Should she call the police? What should she tell them? Was that even real money? What if it was counterfeit? And what if this was a setup? Kim squinted toward the security camera at the far end of the parking lot. A few wires leading up to it looked disconnected, but from the distance it was hard to be sure.

Suddenly, a phone in her proximity began ringing.

Instinctively, Kim checked the phone in her purse, although she could already tell from the ringtone that that could not be it. The ringing sounded too close to be coming from any of the cars surrounding her. That left… Hesitantly, Kim leaned down and looked through the still-open door into her car.

The ringing became louder. And there, in the duffle bag, between two stacks of bills, she saw it: a flip phone not unlike the ones Jimmy had been selling.

_Fight or flight._ Kim never truly considered her options; the overwhelming urge to be polite and answer a call clearly meant for her made her settle back into the driver’s seat and reach for the phone before she could remind herself of all the ways this was a bad idea. The phone was vibrating softly in her hands and she flipped it open with shaking fingers.

“Yes?” Her voice sounded braver than she felt. Kim took small solace in that.

“I apologize for the way this call reaches you.” She had expected Mr. Clarke’s blunt barks, but this was not it. Her caller spoke in hushed tones, his voice soft and perfectly measured, a slight melody to his words. He reminded Kim of one of her law professors, who had effortlessly captured entire auditoriums with his presence that commanded attentiveness. Somehow, that made her instinctively trust the caller.

He continued. “Am I correctly assuming an expression of my gratitude has come to you as well?”

Kim scoffed at the euphemism. “If you mean the bag full of cash sitting in my passenger’s seat, I did not want it then and I do not want it now.”

“May I ask why?” The caller seemed neither angry or affronted, but genuinely curious.

“Well, first of all, because I already got Cristóbal a deal, so I do not see the point of bribing me now,” Kim began. Why was she even talking to the man? Justifying her actions? To this complete stranger? Why did she not just hang up the phone?

“As I am certain my associate has already conveyed to you, this is not intended as a bribe. I merely want to thank you for your fine work,” the caller explained patiently. “Think of it as a gift. There is no harm in taking it.”

Kim exhaled sharply. “I am sure some judge somewhere would disagree, Mr. …?”

“My name is of no immediate concern,” the man told her. “I am simply calling you to express my admiration. You are an excellent defense attorney.”

 _Admiration_? Kim arched an eyebrow. “Thanks,” she replied warily.

“I would like to propose a permanent working relationship,” the caller informed her in his calm, collected voice. Kim could not shake the feeling that he would make a great villain in a James Bond movie.

“Working relationship?” she asked him, every fiber of her being alert. “I do not think I understand.”

He seemed unperturbed by that. “Allow me to explain it to you in person. Do you have pen and paper?”

“Yes,” Kim answered and dug in her purse for the writing utensils.

The man gave her an address in Albuquerque, and Kim scribbled it down on the back of an old grocery list.

“Are you allergic to shellfish?” the man’s voice suddenly asked.

“Shellfish? No,” Kim replied on instinct without questioning his motives.

“Very well. I am expecting you at eight,” the man concluded.

“What? No! I never–I didn’t agree to this,” Kim stammered, fighting to win back control over this curious situation.

“Are there any concerns of yours I may alleviate at this moment?”

There were about a hundred of them, but all Kim really wanted to know right now was why that man sounded as if he had swallowed a thesaurus. His way of expression was unsettlingly calming. She could not imagine that a man as soft-spoken and composed as her mysterious caller would want to hurt her. Besides, if he wanted to kill her, he probably would have done it by now… wouldn’t he? And then he would not have had a reason to give her all of this cash. And he probably would not have sent Mr. Clarke to meet with her either. So… she was not in danger, was she?

Kim rolled her eyes at her own naivete. She sounded like every teenage girl in a horror movie.

She decided not to rush her decision. “Thank you for the invitation,” she replied. “I will think about it and get back to you.”

“It is not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable,” reassured the man. “I trust you understand that the sensitive matters I wish to discuss with you should not be brought forth in a public setting.”

“Sensitive matters?” Kim asked, her suspicions forgotten for a moment.

“My proposal for a working relationship,” the caller explained.

Kim merely nodded slowly. It was such a tempting offer.

“I am expecting you at eight,” the caller reiterated. “If you do not wish to come, you do not have to. In this case, I will not accost you again.”

That sounded fair, Kim decided. It would give her a few hours to sort through her thoughts. Before she could respond, the caller spoke again. “Oh, and Ms. Wexler?”

Hearing him say her name sent a shudder down her spine. “Yes?”

“After you end this call, please destroy the phone.”

She wanted to answer him, but he had already hung up. Daringly, Kim grabbed the keypad and screen and broke the phone in half before she could change her mind about it.


	6. Friday, April 9, 2004

The fact that she got anything done for Mesa Verde after the stranger’s phone call was a testament to the guilt Kim was still feeling over her slip-up. Once Kim had closed the doors to her office behind her, she had rigorously compartmentalized. She had always prided herself in her tremendous powers of concentration. Hell, she had successfully studied for the bar exam while stuck in a cramped mailroom under artificial light and ignoring Jimmy’s antics that had made everyone else laugh so hard Kim thought Jimmy should start selling tickets to his show. He was quite the comedian, her man. She wished she could call him now to talk about everything. It was moments like these that made her miss him so much it almost physically hurt. She longed to tell him all about her triumph over Bill, how she had brought an almost impossible deal to life. She ached to hear the pride in Jimmy’s voice when he told her what a fine attorney she was and see the embarrassment on his face as he tried to distract from his praise by showing her his best Bill impersonation. And she wanted to tell him about that mysterious phone call. She needed to hear his advice.

But she could not entertain these thoughts now. She had to focus on her duty to Mesa Verde.

At half past six, Kim left the office to make the decision she had postponed until now. She could go home now and rest, maybe watch a movie with Jimmy or start reading her newest PD case file. Or she could drive to the address the stranger had given her. She allowed herself one smoke to think things over, but as soon as she had lit the cigarette, she knew she had made her choice. Maybe she had known it as soon as she picked up the phone.

On her way to the mysterious dinner party, Kim stopped by an arms dealer to purchase a handgun. She had not touched a firearm since she left Nebraska, let alone carried one, and she was a firm believer in tightening New Mexico’s lax gun laws. Nevertheless, under these circumstances, she thought that she should be allowed to put her convictions aside for one night and be thankful that New Mexico did not impose a waiting period on firearm purchases. Although she knew that she had invited the very real risk of her host using her own gun against her, Kim felt a lot safer with the small Glock 26 nestled in her purse. She hoped she would not have to use it–mainly because that would prove the voices in her head right that kept telling her this was a bad idea, but also because she was not as confident in her shooting skills as she used to be. She had no idea what the Glock’s recoil would feel like and was not keen on finding out in a situation where her actions could determine whether she lived or died. For the umpteenth time, Kim asked herself why on earth she was going to the meeting.

The address led her to an inconspicuous house in a middle-class neighborhood. Kim was very relieved about that. She parked her car next to a dark-blue Volvo, checked her make-up in her rearview mirror one last time, and made her way to the pitch-black wooden front door. Two classically looking columns framed it, which lend the entrance a menacing aura that made Kim’s nerves flutter. Before she rang the doorbell, she made sure the gun was still in her purse and easy to reach. With one determined breath, she hesitantly raised her hand and put it on the brass bell button.

For a few moments, Kim heard nothing but the blood coursing through her veins. She could still run. She could still run, she told herself. It was not too late. 

Then, the door opened.

The man standing in front of her looked nothing like the person she had expected (but then again, she had pictured him to look vaguely like her former law professor). He was of medium height, slender, and had a kind and friendly expression on his face. “Ms. Wexler!” he greeted her with a smile that was not reflected in his eyes–they remained scrutinizing behind his gold wire-rimmed glasses. “Welcome.” The mustard yellow knit sweater he was wearing perfectly contrasted his russet brown skin color. He gestured inside, and Kim nodded thanks and stepped into his house.

It was, like its neighborhood, perfectly ordinary. The eggshell-white walls were decorated with sepia photographs of scenic spots in nature: a tranquil lake, a majestic mountaintop, a derelict house in the middle of nowhere. The pictures seemed personal and yet gave nothing away about the man living here. From hidden speakers, smooth jazz was pouring into the open space.

Her host led Kim down the hallway and into his kitchen, where the delicious smell of something simmering on the stove filled the air. He helped her into a chair at his dining room table and expertly filled the wine glass in front of her with a ruby-red Cabernet Sauvignon. Kim wanted to thank him, but that would have meant breaking the silence that loomed over them, thundering and calming. So she said nothing and simply smiled gratefully at her host.

After he had made sure she had everything she needed, the man sat down at the head of the table and poured his own wine. Kim watched him, mesmerized. She had never seen a man move with as much poise and grace as him. Everything he did seemed rehearsed to excellence, his manners perfected through years of exquisite social gatherings. His eyes found hers across the table, and he raised his wineglass and finally broke the silence that had cloaked them like velvet since the moment Kim had crossed his threshold. “Thank you for following my invitation, Ms. Wexler. To a fruitful evening.”

Kim raised her glass as well. “To a fruitful evening,” she echoed and drank.

It was, by far, the best wine Kim had ever tasted, its rich aroma dark and deep and promising an earthy finish that would stay on her tongue long after her last sip. She tasted black currant and cedar and graphite in a single drop. Kim closed her eyes and enjoyed this wondrous moment as she had enjoyed little else in the past few months.

When she opened her eyes again, her host was still looking at her intently, the hint of approval in his eyes. “I cannot emphasize my gratitude enough,” he said in the same warm and gentle voice that Kim had heard over the phone. “I know it must have been a very difficult decision for you to come here.”

Kim took another sip of wine to prevent herself from telling the man that there had never been a doubt in her mind about coming here tonight.

He continued. “Now that you are here, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gustavo Fring.” He extended his hand, and Kim formally shook it.

“Mr. Fring. It’s nice to meet you.” It felt so significant, knowing his name, as if Kim had been let in on a secret she was required to take to her grave.

“Please, call me Gus.”

“Gus,” she corrected herself, then offered, “Please call me Kim.”

He nodded slightly in agreement. “Kim, I hope you are not too hungry. I am afraid my stew needs to simmer for a few more minutes. I was uncertain whether you would be on time, given the magnitude of the choice I asked you to make.”

“That’s fine,” Kim reassured him. “It smells delicious.”

“Paila marina,” Gus informed her. “It’s a fancy name for fish stew.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Kim was not quite sure what else to say.

“It is just like my mother used to make it,” Gus began reminiscing. “The smell alone… it instantly brings me back to my childhood in Chile.”

It astounded Kim how willingly he shared this piece of information with her, but she reminded herself that he might be lying about it to make her feel more welcome while protecting his identity. She just gave him a noncommittal smile. “Gus, why am I here?”

He smiled enigmatically. “I had hoped to table this discussion until after dinner, but I understand your curiosity. As I told you earlier on the phone, I admire your skill. You are an excellent attorney.”

Kim knew she was good, but it made her feel very uncomfortable to hear Gus say it. Everything he said sounded far too serious. She replied with a curious look, nudging him to go on.

“Kim, I have been following your PD cases for quite some time now,” Gus admitted. “You truly seem to win unwinnable cases. I admire your dedication. If I may say, it seems like you are enjoying the work very much.”

“I am,” Kim confessed, still somewhat perplexed.

“As I am sure you have deducted by now, I am connected to Cristóbal in a business capacity.”

Kim snorted a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

Gus smiled briefly. “In the past several years, there have been more cases like Cristóbal’s, and I suspect there will be more in the future. I am afraid it goes hand in hand with the nature of our business. But rest assured, we operate mostly unseen. The authorities have no reason to suspect anything that might trace back to the larger operation and, by extension, me.”

_Good for you?_ Kim was not sure why he was telling her all this.

“Nevertheless, cases like Cristóbal’s have occurred and will continue to do so,” said Gus. “In order to ensure smooth proceedings, it is of the utmost importance that these cases will be handled swiftly and without attracting much attention.”

From a legal standpoint, Kim agreed with him on that. From a moral standpoint, she was not so sure. She had an inkling what Gus was referring to when he talked about ‘smooth proceedings.’

“This is where you would step in, if you agreed,” Gus carried on. Kim shot upright in her chair, listening intently. “I would like to ask you to consider taking all future cases that are similar to Cristóbal’s.”

Kim did not want to answer with vague hints and decided to cut to the point. “You want me to get your drug dealers off before the police take a closer look where the drugs were coming from?”

Gus raised his glass and took a long sip of wine. Kim did not take her eyes off him. Eventually, he simply answered, “Yes.”

Kim sunk back in her chair, disbelieving laughter rising up her throat. On some level she had seen this coming, but hearing Gus say it was a whole other matter. She craved a cigarette to clear her head.

“Well,” she began, still perplexed and speechless. “That is… I don’t…” She stammered for a few more seconds before she settled on the words, “That is quite an offer.”

“I understand,” Gus replied matter-of-factly. “And I apologize for the haste with which I have made it to you. But you asked, and I did not want to lie to you. I respect you very much, Kim.”

At his words, she felt ice-cold. “Hmpf,” was all she managed to respond.

Gus smiled reassuringly and rose from his chair. “May I serve you dinner now? We can discuss my offer at length over the paila marina. I have always found that a stimulating conversation is the spice needed to perfect even the best dishes.”

“Yes, please.” Kim was deeply grateful that she had a few moments to collect her thoughts while Gus was preparing their plates. Eating would grant her a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling through her mind. She had no idea how to feel about his offer. She knew she should be concerned, maybe even scared. Morally outraged, too. She should firmly reject his offer, storm out of his house and report him to the police. Just then a frightening thought entered her mind. Gus must have done _something_ to prevent her from revealing his identity. Would he kill her if she refused his offer? She eyed her host suspiciously, who was just ladling the stew into two soup plates. It came from the same pot, so he probably had not poisoned the stew. But maybe he had done something to one of the plates. Could she truly trust him?

Gus carried the two portions back to the dining room and presented them to her. “Please, choose. This one has a few more clams, but the other one has more shrimp. I was not sure which you would prefer.”

So apparently he had not poisoned one of the dishes, if he let her choose her own plate. Kim chose the dish with more clams and he placed it in front of her, sat down, and carefully folded his napkin in his lap. “Please, enjoy your meal.”

Kim looked at the stew in front of her, debating whether she should eat it. Gus noticed her hesitation. “Kim, please do not be afraid. I did nothing to your stew. See?” He reached over, scooped up a piece of eel from her plate, and ate it. “I apologize for my poor table manners, but I wanted to assure you that you are in no danger.”

Kim was a lot more relieved than she cared to admit and finally allowed herself a taste of the dish in front of her. She was not a huge fan of sea food, but that was the least of her concerns right now. She gulped it down. “It’s very good,” she lied.

“You are very gracious,” Gus replied. “May I answer some of your questions now?”

Kim chewed on a piece of bell pepper to buy herself some time and think of a polite way to ask Gus if he was kidding. “Gus, I must admit, I do not understand how you minimized the risk that was involved with your invitation.”

He furrowed his brows. “I am afraid I am not sure what you are referring to. Would you care to enlighten me?”

Kim took another sip of wine to calm her nerves. “You have shared some aspects of your business with me that, frankly, might incriminate you. How did you ensure I will not leave you and go straight to the police?”

“You are a keen observer,” Gus said calmly. “I am certain you must already know the answer.”

Kim stayed silent. She would not let Gus get out of her question by answering it for him.

When neither of them had spoken for more than a minute, Gus finally replied. “To put it in simple terms, I trust you.”

“You don’t know me,” Kim reminded him, skeptical of his answer.

“That may be true,” Gus admitted, “but I research everyone with whom I do business. I have conferred with my associate as well. We both reached the conclusion that you could be trusted.”

Kim felt strangely flattered by this assessment but did not want to put too much trust in Gus already. “Your associate?”

“You know him as Mr. Clarke, I presume,” Gus explained. “His real name is Mike Ehrmantraut.”

For a second, Kim’s jaw fell open in unconcealed shock. Ehrmantraut! Suddenly she remembered why he had seemed so familiar. “The… man from the parking booth? That is your–that was him?”

“You must know him from his previous employment,” Gus nodded. “But he no longer works for SMQ parking.”

Kim nodded slowly while trying to process that piece of information. “So… you needed a capable defense attorney and found me, watched me for a while to make certain I would not turn you in, and now you… are offering me a job?” she summarized.

“That is the essence of it, yes,” Gus replied. “As I am sure Mr. Ehrmantraut has explained to you, I have a vested interest in obtaining the best legal defense for my associates without attracting too much attention, which is why openly hiring a renowned defense attorney is not an option in my case. Of course, that is not to say you will not be compensated for your work.”

_But I already have enough money_ , Kim wanted to tell him, but stopped herself. No matter the compensation, Gus’ offer was more exciting than anything she had ever done for Mesa Verde (except the scam she and Jimmy had pulled in Lubbock, maybe–but no one knew about that. Or had Gus found out about that, too?). The knowledge frightened her and delighted her and begged to be understood with all its implications before she reached a decision.

As if he had read her thoughts, Gus added, “Of course I am not asking you to accept or decline my offer tonight. The mere fact that you accepted my invitation to dinner is an honor. You will have time to think about my proposal. Allow me to add, however, that money will not be an issue. I trust you noticed that when you received an expression of my gratitude earlier today. It is safe, I presume?”

“What, the br–the money? I still have it, if that is what you mean.”

“Good,” replied Gus. “I trust you will have no trouble laundering it, given your excellent track record with Mesa Verde.”

It did not surprise Kim in the slightest that he knew about her biggest client, but the candor with which he mentioned it was so brazen it bordered on rudeness.

“I would not ask you to quit your job at Schweikart & Cokely,” Gus continued. “You have worked hard to become partner. You have earned it. And you have fought to retain Mesa Verde as a client. I would not ask you to give that up.”

Kim thought about this for a second. “Then how would I be assigned the cases you would want me to take?”

Gus smiled confidently. “Means will be put into place to ensure that.”

Kim thought it was best not to ask what exactly that meant. It probably involved bribing someone. Instead, she just stated, “That is one hell of a workload.”

“I have complete faith in your abilities,” Gus assured her. “You are an exceptional woman, Kim.”

It was the scariest and most exhilarating thing she had ever heard.


	7. Friday, April 9 – Saturday, April 10, 2004

She had debated whether she should tell Jimmy all about her peculiar evening, but when Kim got home, Jimmy commandeered the conversation as soon as she got through the door. “Kim, guess what?” he exclaimed in lieu of a greeting. “I finally have my nook! I finished putting up the walls today. And I have windows, too. Now all I need is some carpet, wallpaper, and furniture and I’m good to go! Wanna see some sketches?”

It was perfect to take her mind off the strange dinner. Jimmy showed her the drawings he had made of his office, how his desk would be encircled by walls and how high windows were meant to ensure that no one would be able to sneak a peek inside his office. Despite Kim’s aesthetic reservations, she found Jimmy’s enthusiasm infectious and enjoyed hearing more about his unique vision for his law offices. He seemed very proud of his ideas. Kim could not blame him. She knew all too well how intimidating many of her PD clients found big, shiny law firms. Maybe Jimmy’s unorthodox approach would clear some barriers between people in need of legal counsel and their opportunity to get it… But her heart sunk into her stomach as he showed her his sketches for his storefront: the huge window bore the title _Saul Goodman & Associates_ in giant letters. Kim felt deep, dark sadness rise within her. She simply did not understand why he had changed his name. And he had never even considered telling her. That hurt the most. But she would not ask him about it. If this was how Jimmy wanted to handle things, fine. She could keep secrets from him, too.

Not wanting to hear more about Saul Goodman, Kim excused herself and started reading her newest PD case file. She wanted to try to banish all thoughts about Gus and his proposal from her mind tonight. Kim trusted that when the time was right, she would know what to do. When they had said goodbye, Gus had given Kim another drop phone to be used only once: to let him know if she was in or out. For now, the phone was hidden in a security safe under her bed, together with her new Glock. But Kim was so hyperaware of its presence that she found it hard to focus on the case in front of her.

Her client was a 21-year-old kid named Troy Collins. On his mug shot, he was scowling at the camera, his eyes narrowed in defiance. Kim sighed and studied his criminal record. This was not Troy’s first run-in with the law, and she was certain it would not be his last. Misdemeanor possession of a fake ID, public lewdness, petty theft, battery… It was a long, sad list. And now Troy had graduated to arson, burglary, and aggravated assault. Kim wondered if Gus had any previous convictions. Probably not; he seemed like a cautious man. She forced her attention back to Troy’s indictment. He was accused of breaking into a lumberyard, attacking the security guard with a log (leaving him blind on one eye), and setting the place on fire. When the police had come to arrest him, they had found a gun on the scene as well. It had recently been fired and was covered in Troy’s fingerprints.

At four am, Kim decided to call it a day. She could work on the case tomorrow, she reminded herself; Jimmy would probably spend the weekend renovating his office and she would have the apartment to herself. Now, it was time to go to bed. She hoped she would fall asleep quickly instead of lying awake at night, replaying her dinner at Gus’ in her mind over and over again. Kim took a last look at Troy’s mugshot. He was so young, so full of potential… and he had wasted it all. What might have become of him, she wondered, if he had been born into different circumstances? She opened the case file again to take a closer look at Troy’s life. He was from Dallas, Texas, where he had grown up with an alcoholic mother and regularly replaced stepfathers. The day after graduating high school, he had come to Albuquerque, where he had spent the last three years in and out of prison.

His biography broke Kim’s heart. Clearly, the system had failed him.

She wondered what his childhood must have been like in Texas. Kim had never been to Dallas. She had thought about spending a few days there after she and Jimmy had pulled the scam in Lubbock, but her life had been so stressful at the time–she really could not have taken a few days off work to go on vacation and leave her colleagues hanging. Somehow, everything always came back to Mesa Verde. When was the last time her life had not evolved around their expansion? Kim could barely remember it. It was a pity, because she had always wanted to see the Fort Worth Stockyards. She hadn’t been to a rodeo in decades. Somehow she had thought she had to leave that part of herself behind when she left Nebraska. Fancy attorneys did not go to the rodeo.

Then again… If she left now, drove to the airport and caught the earliest flight, she could spend the weekend in Dallas and take the last flight back on Sunday. She would not miss work, and she would finally see some longhorns up close. After years of fighting for every breath of air, she deserved to skip town on a whim if she felt like it. She was an adult; she had to answer to nobody. At least on weekends. And maybe a change of scenery was all she needed to shake the demons that seemed to have been following her for far too long now.

Three hours later, Kim sat on the first plane bound for Dallas, Texas.

The Boeing took off just as the first rays of the morning sun broke through the clouds and touched her face. Kim closed her eyes and enjoyed the force of the plane’s acceleration that was pushing her deeper into her seat. She had made the right decision. With every mile put between herself and Albuquerque, Kim felt lighter and more like herself than she had in months. She would soak up this feeling over the weekend until she was almost bursting with it, and it would keep her going through everything that lay ahead, all the struggles and hardships and tough decisions she would have to face.

She landed in Dallas roughly two hours later, grabbed her carry-on, and made her way to the airport’s huge arrivals hall on the hunt for some brochures. First order of business: find a nice hotel to stay the night. The choice proved much easier than she had thought: the right hotel seemed to have been waiting for her all along. But just to be safe, Kim decided to call ahead and ask if they still had vacant rooms.

She dug in her purse for her phone and switched it on. The phone began to vibrate: a new message.

Then the phone vibrated some more.

One missed call.

The phone kept vibrating.

Another new message.

The phone continued to vibrate.

Kim’s fingers were beginning to feel numb.

The phone still vibrated.

When the phone finally fell silent, it felt as if ten minutes had passed. Kim checked her display. Eleven missed calls, seven voicemails, and two text messages. All from Jimmy. Kim opened the text messages: “Worried about you! Where are you? Please give me a call!”

And twenty minutes later: “Call me asap!! Are you alright??”

 _I’m alright, Jimmy_ , Kim thought. _I am more than alright._ But talking to Jimmy now… that just felt wrong, out of place. She had come here to get away from it all, from Gus’ indecent proposal, from the crushing duty she felt towards Mesa Verde, from her entire life in Albuquerque. And that included Jimmy… and, possibly, Saul. Kim felt a shudder creep down her spine. She could not find it in herself to respond. So she switched off her phone again and hailed a taxi. She’d take her chances.

Her driver tried striking up a conversation with her on the thirty-minute drive, but Kim kept her answers curt and short and soon the driver gave up his attempts. Kim stared out the window in silence, lost in thought. The interstate was flying by her; they drove past car dealerships and fast food chains and pawn shops. It could have been anywhere in the country. Kim felt her resolve weaken. Why had she come here? This was madness.

But then her driver made a left turn, and all doubts were wiped from Kim’s mind. Now, she was unmistakably in Texas. To her right, a huge building bore the title _Cavender’s Stockyards Outfitters._ A porch ran around the entire house, roofed by a balcony that was held up by heavy wooden beams. In the window, a sign advertised for _Custom Boots, Hand Made_. Kim could not suppress the grin spreading on her face. It was beautiful.

A few minutes later, even the ground below them changed: instead of rough asphalt, their cab was now driving over red cobblestones, and suddenly it was as if she was not just driving toward her destination, but also back in time. The buildings lining the street seemed to be at least 150 years old, their impressively high false fronts casting long shadows on them. In front of the leather stores and steak houses and honky-tonks stood porch swings and hay carts and cart wheels almost as tall as her. Kim was so engrossed in the sights that she barely noticed when the car came to a halt.

“Alright, we’re here,” her driver’s voice snapped Kim out of her haze. In front of them towered her destination: the Stockyards Hotel.

The hotel was nestled in the heart of the National Historic Stockyards District, and it looked the part. Three stories tall and enormously wide, the Stockyards Hotel occupied the entire block. Its brick façade reminded Kim of the early 19 th  century. From the cast iron balcony above the main entrance, the Texas flag was swaying proudly in the wind. Right next to the hotel, a huge sign bridged the street and displayed the words _Fort Worth Stock Yards_ in giant letters.

The hotel was just as beautiful on the inside. The spacious lobby was furnished with comfortable leather couches, cowhide chairs, countless antiques, and various knickknacks that created and elegant Old West atmosphere. It felt as if she had stepped into one of her father’s favorite movies, _Giant_ , and was a guest on Rock Hudson’s luxurious Texan cattle ranch. The receptionist greeted her warmly. “Hi, welcome to the Stockyards Hotel! Do you have a reservation?”

“Hi,” Kim replied, still trying to take in all the glamour. “No, unfortunately, I did not book in advance. I hope that’s not a problem. It’s just for one night?” she added, hopeful.

“You’re in luck,” the receptionist told her. “We were all booked out, but we just received a cancellation for one of our signature rooms. It’s $509.”

Inside, Kim winced at the number. But if this was the price for some long-overdue downtime, she paid it gladly. She handed the receptionist her credit card. “I’ll take it.”

The receptionist began checking Kim in. “So, you will be staying in our Bonnie and Clyde room, which is the actual suite Bonnie and Clyde occupied during their 1933 stay in Fort Worth, decorated with a variety of historic artifacts of the two,” she recited in a monotone voice.

Kim felt her ears prick up. “Bonnie and Clyde stayed here?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The suite was spectacular. A king size bed was framed by lamps made of spurs and horseshoes. In the corner, a poker table added its unique flair. But the most amazing aspect of the room were the numerous memorabilia. Above the massive wooden desk, several newspaper clippings and photos of the two were displayed. Next to it hung Bonnie’s very own .38 revolver. On the other side of the room was the newspaper article about Bonnie and Clyde’s deaths, written by the sheriffs who had shot them. But what drew Kim’s attention most was the huge picture of Bonnie and Clyde hanging in the corner of the room. In it, the two lovers were standing at the side of the road, wearing their finest attire: Clyde in a suit, tie and fedora, Bonnie in a black skirt going down to her ankles and a knit sweater, a jaunty beret on her head. She was holding a shotgun and playfully pointing it at Clyde as if to steal a kiss from him. He was smiling back at her, mischief in his face. The photo portrayed such an intimate moment that Kim instinctively took a step back, as if she would intrude into their happiness if she stood too close. Inexplicably, the picture evoked envy in her. Bonnie and Clyde looked so free, so joyful, so _real_.

But pictures could be deceptive, she reminded herself. A few months after this photo had been taken, Bonnie and Clyde had died a gruesome, cruel death. There was nothing romantic about that. And yet… that moment remained frozen. In that picture, Bonnie and Clyde would eternally stay young and wild and in love.

Annoyed at her own melancholy, Kim tore her eyes from the picture and forced herself back to the here and now. The entire afternoon lay before her, and she wanted to savor every minute of it.

The Fort Worth Stockyards had existed since the end of the 19 th  century, when they had been the site of the biggest livestock market south of Kansas City. A few years later, a huge building was erected nearby that became known as the Cowtown Coliseum. Over the decades, it had held the annual stock show and welcomed guests like Elvis Presley or Theodore Roosevelt. After much of the Stockyards were closed down due to the changing economy, the area became a National Historic Site. Today, it was a tourist destination that gave its visitors a taste of the old West during the turn of the century, and the Coliseum housed the Stockyards Championship Rodeo. Over the next few hours, Kim walked miles crisscrossing the entire area. She visited the Stockyards Museum and the Texas Cowboy Hall of Fame, had a meatloaf with mashed potatoes and a Dr Pepper at the Horseshoe Hill Cafe, saw the cattle drive, and strolled through Stockyards Station on the hunt for some souvenirs. She even bought a light blue Western style button up blouse with white contrast stitching across its front. She knew she would never wear the shirt anywhere else, but for some reason she could not leave it behind when she left Maverick Fine Western Wear.

Tonight, however, she would wear the blouse, because tonight she was going to the rodeo. She was an unashamed tourist, and she loved every minute of it. But what she loved more was the fact that she had successfully distracted herself from all she had come here to forget.

Kim went back to the hotel to freshen up for a few minutes and then indulged in her dinner, a Texas Strip Sirloin Steak. She was ashamed to admit it, but this was so much better than the one at Forque. Maybe it was even almost as good as the ones back in Nebraska. Almost.

Rodeo flew by her; at the end of the night, she could not have said if she had spent minutes or hours watching the bull riding and tie down roping and barrel racing.

Kim returned to her suite far too excited to go to sleep. She wanted to freshen up and go out again–the night was still so young. She could go to the White Elephant Saloon and have a beer or two.

But when Kim came back to her hotel room, a man was sitting in one of the chairs by the window, his left leg resting casually on his right knee and revealing his dark brown leather boots. His head was slightly bent forward, his face hidden underneath the wide brim of a cream-colored Stetson that perfectly matched his suit. Before she could scream, the stranger looked up at her, and Kim saw his face.

“Oh, good,” Jimmy said calmly. “You’re not dead.”

Kim threw her purse on her bed and walked into the center of the room. “Jimmy? What the hell?” She did not know which emotion was strongest inside her: her surprise, her confusion, or her unbridled rage.

Jimmy, it seemed, had settled on anger. “I was worried about you!” he explained in an accusing tone. “I thought you were dead or something! Jesus, Kim, you just disappear?”

She stared back at him in irritation. “I just needed a vacation.”

He scoffed. “Some vacation, sneaking out in the middle of the night without telling me.”

Kim felt their fight in the air like electricity before a storm. One wrong word, and they would end the night screaming at each other. But she did not care. So she hissed, “Oh yes, because you’re always telling me everything.”

Jimmy seemed taken aback for a moment. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Your reinstatement!” Kim said, her voice already far too loud. “All that bullshit you spewed?”

Jimmy looked up at her in confusion. “Yeah, so?”

“ _So_?” Kim echoed, shocked by his reaction. He just didn’t _get_ it. “I thought you were gonna read Chuck’s letter!”

He raised his eyebrows for a moment, as if to ask, _Is this really a conversation you want to have now?_ “Yeah, I was planning to, but…” He thought about it for a second. “I told you, I realized it wasn’t enough.”

That answer did not satisfy her in the slightest. Besides, she was standing, and he was still sitting down, and that made her feel as if she was already winning. “So you just came up with… whatever that was, off the top of your head?”

“Yes, I–Kim, what are you trying to say?” His voice sounded different now, more cautious, as if he had only just realized that this would end in a fight but was still somehow trying to prevent it.

“Those were all just lies, really? You really don’t… feel anything for Chuck?” She was so angry now, so mad at him: for lying, for keeping secrets, for not grieving for his dead brother properly. She wanted to bust Bonnie’s .38 out of its frame and shoot Jimmy right here.

Jimmy, feeling her wrath, jumped up out his chair and met her eyelevel. “Jesus, Kim, seriously? Still going on about Chuck?” He was gesticulating wildly again, his hands flying through the air as if independent from his body, to show how livid he was. “I told you. Chuck was alive, and now he’s not, and that’s all there is to it.” His voice sounded big and defiant, like that of a child. “I am _fine_. I did my fucking PPD, stayed out of trouble for a year, jumped through his little hoops, and now I’m reinstated again and that’s that. I will go back to practicing law, and he will turn in his grave somehow still being disappointed in me, and I could give a fuck.” He spat the last word as if it was poisonous.

His coldness rendered her speechless. “Jimmy, he’s your _brother_ ,” was all she managed to say.

Jimmy did not notice her shock, or if he did, he was not perturbed by it. “Correction, he _was_ my brother. And he stopped being my brother a long time before he knocked over that gas lantern, FYI.” He was absolutely furious now, his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists. “Do you want to know the last thing he said to me, Kim? Do you? He looked at me, he looked me straight in the eye, and told me he never cared about me all that much. He–”

Abruptly he stopped himself, as if he had suddenly realized he had said too much. For the fraction of a second, Kim saw something in his eyes that was gone before she could decipher what it was.

When Jimmy continued, his voice was just as hard and unyielding as before. “It’s been over a year, and still, all anyone ever wants to talk to me about is Chuck, Chuck, Chuck.” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “It’s like they are mad at me that I’m still here and Chuck is gone, like they believe fate or god or whatever took the wrong McGill brother.”

For a second it broke Kim’s heart that he would even think that, but her pity was overshadowed by her anger at his own stupidity. “Jimmy, don’t you get it? They ask about Chuck precisely _because_ they care about you! Because they want to know how you are feeling, how you are dealing with this! Because they want to support you in your grief!” She could not believe she had to tell him this, that he had not known this all along.

Jimmy took a sharp breath that cut through the air like a knife. “I am not grieving, Kim, okay? I am not grieving,” he repeated, to convince her or himself or them both. “Besides, it’s not like you’d gladly talk about your feelings. Remember when I read Chuck’s letter, and you started crying? _You_ walked away from me.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “ _You_ closed that door. _You_ shut me out. And now you are mad at me for doing the same!” His last words were accompanied by shrill, unnatural laughter.

What little patience she had had left ran out as he said that. “That is not the same, Jimmy!” she yelled at him. “I did what I did because I did not want to burden you!”

He would not hear it. “Bullshit! You shut me out because you hate dealing with your emotions, you always have, and you always will.”

She did not need the gun; Kim was ready to strangle Jimmy with her bare hands. “That is not fair!” Her voice was loud and hysterical. “I just didn’t want to distract you! I thought you were busy processing your feelings! But oh no! Another bite of cereal and you’re back to normal!” Somehow, the memory of Jimmy eating cereal only amplified her anger.

“So what did you want me to do, huh?” Jimmy asked, his words hailing down on her like bullets. “Did you want me to cry, Kim? Huh? Is that it?”

Kim took a deep breath and replied in her calmest voice, “Yes, for a start.”

Jimmy froze. “What?”

Kim looked into his eyes, trying to make him understand for what she still had not forgiven him. “Jimmy, the way you compartmentalize your emotions–that’s not healthy! I thought you would eventually allow yourself to mourn Chuck, but you never did! And I was genuinely worried for you! I did what I did to help you!”

He laughed bitterly. “You don’t save me, I save me. Remember? That goes both ways. And I am _fine_.”

Kim sighed. “Fine? You changed your name!”

Jimmy’s hands flew through the air again in wild gestures. “Yeah, sure as shit I did. What, did you think I would forever want to practice law as a McGill? Did you think that one more time I wanted to be asked, ‘Oh, McGill, are you related to Charles McGill by any chance, because, man, was he a great guy!’”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that, Jimmy?” Kim did not know if that was a good enough explanation for her. Either way, it did nothing to change how betrayed he had made her feel. “Do you know how I was feeling, standing in that fucking hallway, and you ran away from me saying ‘It’s all good, man?’”

His face lit up with a sheepish smile. “‘Saul Shitman’ just didn’t have the same ring to it.”

A small laugh escaped her throat before she could stop herself. Kim sighed deeply and changed the conversation. “Why are you even here, Jimmy?”

He picked up the change of pace gratefully. “I told you, I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you’re still alive. And you weren’t answering your phone.”

“So, how did you know I was here?”

He shrugged. “Old friend of mine. Mike, you remember him? The guy from the parking booth? Anyway, he’s a spy or whatever, and he owed me a favor.”

Mr. Ehrmantraut! Kim would give him an earful the next time she saw him. “What, you had him follow me?”

“Follow you? No,” Jimmy said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to track someone’s whereabouts. “He tracked your credit card movements. Lesson number one: If you don’t want people to know what you’re up to, best use cash. So, yeah, I jumped on the next plane and flew out here, waited in the hotel lobby until you came back this afternoon, followed you up to your floor to find out your room number, then I waited until you went out again, stole a key card from a maid’s cart and let myself in.”

Kim groaned. It was always the same with him, always. “Jimmy, you’ve been reinstated for like a month now. You’re not even practicing yet! And you are already breaking too many laws to count!” She did not know how many more times she could have this conversation.

Jimmy waved a hand through the air dismissively. “So? I did it because I was worried, Kim! Jesus, you make it sound like I’m some deranged lunatic who wants to murder you and make a coat out of your skin.”

Their brief truce was over; now they were at war again and Jimmy had just dropped the first grenade. Kim prepared her counter attack. “Your intentions don’t matter, Jimmy! Did you, just for a moment, stop to think that maybe my coming here had nothing to do with you? That there is a part of my life that does not involve or concern you? No, of course not! You just jump on the next plane and follow me like the lead in some bullshit romantic comedy!”

“Oh, forgive me for worrying about your safety!” Jimmy yelled sarcastically. “You’re right, I should have just forgotten about it! Hey, my girlfriend disappears in the middle of the night and her phone is switched off, but I guess I’ll let her be kidnapped or hogtied in the desert or whatever, because otherwise I’d be interfering with her independence! How selfish of me!”

Kim stared at him, her fury burning bright inside her. “Well, now you know I haven’t been kidnapped, so you’re free to go.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes defiant and dark with anger. Then he abruptly turned around and slammed the door behind him.


	8. Sunday, April 11, 2004

Later that night, Jimmy stormed back to her room, frantically shaking her until she woke up. “Kim! Please, we have to get out of here! Now!”

Kim shot upright and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Jimmy was still dressed in his cream-colored suit, but now it was covered in blood. He dragged her out of bed. “Please, baby, please. I have to run. You have to come with me.”

Something terrible had happened, she could feel it in her bones. Kim jumped out of bed and hastily struggled into her pair of jeans. “Jimmy, what’s wrong?”

He peeked out of the windows to make sure there was no one waiting for them in the street. When he turned to face her, tears were streaming down his face. “Someone attacked me. I killed him…”

Before she could question her impulses, Kim threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest. “It’s okay, Jimmy. We’ll figure something out, okay?” She took his face into her hands and looked deep into his eyes. “Jimmy, hey. It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. Hey! Look at me, okay? Look at me. I love you. Everything is going to be fine. You have to trust me.”

“I do.” He wrapped his arms tight around her. Kim sunk into his embrace and let his scent fill her nose. “So what now? Where are we going?” No matter what, she would follow him anywhere.

He buried his hands in her hair and kissed her desperately, his lips clinging to hers as if he was drowning and she was all that could save him. “On the lam.”

The next moment, they were speeding down an empty highway, their pursuers inching closer with each moment. Kim looked into her hands and saw she had taken Bonnie’s .38 revolver with her before she had left the room. She knew there was no other way out. She would have to kill what was chasing them if she and Jimmy wanted to have a future together.

~ ~ ~

Kim rolled over and woke up startled, her dream still far too present in her mind. Just to reassure herself, she threw a glance at the revolver, which was still firmly mounted to the wall, and for a split second she felt sheer relief wash over her. But then she remembered that not all of that had been a dream, that Jimmy had in fact been in her room last night, and that they had fought. Again. And it had neither cleansed nor invigorated their relationship. If anything, it had dealt it its final blow.

It was one of those rare moments when Kim wished she knew how to cry. Why couldn’t she just throw herself on the bed now and weep openly until all the sadness and frustration had been swept away by her tears, and she had been filled with resolve and purpose again? But Kim found crying neither therapeutic nor helpful. It was not in her nature to show weakness. Instead, she carried her feelings with her until they had festered inside her and turned to dark, thick bitterness.

Her dream still hung in the air like silver mist. Kim shot an accusatory look at the picture of Bonnie and Clyde hanging on the wall. “Your story is very misleading,” she told them. “I’m sure your life was not half as glamorous as the myth makes it out to be.”

It was strange, she mused, how little she truly knew about Bonnie and Clyde. And yet she had let their ghosts capture her so readily… Maybe she was beginning to show weakness after all. Kim groaned in frustration. She needed to focus. Perhaps finding out more about Bonnie and Clyde would help her put this weekend–and her dream–into perspective. When she checked out, Kim asked the receptionist if she knew of any bookstores that might sell their biography.

“I don’t know of any bookstores, Ma’am,” the receptionist replied, “but there is a guided Bonnie and Clyde tour every Sunday at 11 am in Dallas. I could make a reservation, if you like.”

_That works, too,_ Kim thought. “Yes, please.”

The tour met in central Dallas, and before everyone got on the bus, introductions were in order. Besides Kim, there were seventeen other people on the tour: two families with two children each, a group of friends in their early twenties, four housewives who knew each other from a book club, and an older couple celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary. Their tour guide was a woman in her late fifties named Nelly. She was wearing worn-out sneakers, outdoor clothing, and a bright orange windbreaker. Her long, grey hair was put up in a tight knot in the back of her head, her face well-weathered. Kim instinctively trusted her. Nelly looked as if she could run a marathon through a snowstorm while solving a complicated math problem. “All right, y’all, welcome to the Bonnie and Clyde tour!” she greeted the group. “Over the next three hours I will show y’all the places of some really cool events from their lives and tell you all about this amazing and fascinating couple. But first: picture time!” She opened the heavy folder she had been carrying around, pulled out three black-and-white photographs of the couple and handed them around. Kim recognized one of the pictures as the one from her hotel room. The second picture must have been taken on that same day, in the same location: Clyde held Bonnie in his arms, and the pair smiled at the camera. But it was the third picture that caught Kim’s attention at once. It was a picture of Bonnie alone. She stood in front of an automobile, her left leg propped up on the fender, casually leaning on the headlight. A cigar was dangling from the corner of her mouth, and her right hand rested on her hip, holding a revolver. Kim’s heart skipped a beat. That was  _her_ revolver… the one from her room. She had seen it with her own eyes.

Kim was still holding the picture, staring at it, long after the other two photographs had been handed back to Nelly. Her tour guide took a careful step towards Kim. “Darlin’? You can keep the picture for a little while longer, but I’m beginning my tour now, if you want to pay attention.” There was no judgment in her voice, just genuine understanding.

Kim looked at her, a little embarrassed, and handed her the picture. “Oh, thanks. Sorry, I was… lost in thought.”

“I could see that!” Nelly said warmly. “She was pretty badass, huh?”

Kim smiled. “Yes, she truly was.”

“Alright,” Nelly addressed the group again. “Now let me read y’all a quote–I know, I know, you’re on vacation, but you came here to learn, and learn you shall! Now listen up, y’all, here it goes. This is a passage from Jeff Guinn’s book _Go Down Together: The True, Untold Story of Bonnie and Clyde_. Hem hem!” She pretended to clear her throat to get everyone’s attention and read, “‘John Dillinger had matinee-idol good looks and Pretty Boy Floyd had the best possible nickname, but these photos introduced new criminal superstars with the most titillating trademark of all–illicit sex. Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker were wild and young, and undoubtedly slept together.’”

Some of the twenty-somethings cheered at that, but Kim smiled to herself.  _Good for you, Bonnie. Go get some._

During the next two hours, their tour took them to the site of some of the cafes in which Bonnie had worked, to the location of Bonnie and Clyde’s first meeting, to the homes of some of their gang members. Nelly seemed to have infinite knowledge of the topic–there was no question she could not answer, no stone or tree or bridge for which she did not have an anecdote. She talked about their crimes with unrestrained passion, almost admiration. Somehow, that did not sit right with Kim, and she decided to ask her about it. “Nelly, what I don’t understand is how romanticized Bonnie and Clyde’s story has become,” she began carefully. “I mean… their lives must have been very hard, growing up in a slum, barely scraping by, then escaping into a life of crime knowing it will result in their deaths… Isn’t it a sad story? Why are people so fascinated by it? Idolize them?”

Nelly nodded thoughtfully before she answered. “Yes, it is a sad story. The great depression… that was a sad time, and the two were in a sad situation, but they just made the best of it. And, at least at first, I reckon they saw themselves as rebels. Clyde experienced real horrors during his first incarceration, and when he got out, he was hardened and driven by revenge.”

It sounded like such a familiar story; Kim dealt with cases like these every day. “The system failed him,” she summarized sadly. “But what about Bonnie? Why did she go with him?”

Nelly smiled. “Oh, darlin’, they were two peas in a pod! Madly in love, those two.”

Nelly’s words brought inexplicable tears to Kim’s eyes. She took a deep breath to regain control. “So… would you say they were happy?”

“Yes, Ma’am!” replied Nelly decidedly. “As happy as could be. I mean, don’t get me wrong! They killed a number of people, I ain’t denying that. They lived dangerous lives, were severely injured a couple of times, had to be on the lookout constantly, especially after their pictures had been printed in all the papers! But what would their alternative have been? Living in a slum, starving? I doubt they would have been happier then.”

“They had freedom,” Kim whispered, more to herself than to Nelly. She wished she knew what that felt like.

The first tear escaped her eye, and Kim let herself fall behind to wipe it away discreetly while Nelly shooed the tour group back on the bus for their last destination: Bonnie’s grave.

Although Bonnie and Clyde had wanted to be buried together, her family would not allow it. That knowledge broke Kim’s heart. Now, they were united only in pictures. The tour ended at the cemetery, and Kim stayed behind until she was the only one left at the gravesite. Here, in solitude, Kim found it almost impossible to hold back her tears, and for the first time, she did not fight them back. It was not much–crying still felt foreign to her–but it wetted her cheeks all the same. Again, Kim read the words inscribed in Bonnie’s tombstone.

_As the flowers are all made sweeter by the sunshine and the dew,  
so this old world is made brighter by the lives of folks like you._

“I hope he was worth it,” she whispered to Bonnie. “I hope he made your world very, very bright.”

When she turned around, Kim noticed the older couple from the tour group standing in the distance, waving at her. She dried her cheeks on her sleeve and walked over to them.

“Excuse us, love,” the woman said in a surprisingly strong voice for a such a small person. “We don’t mean to intrude. But my husband and I–he’s Carl; Carl, say hello to the nice lady!–and I am Blanche, it’s nice to meet you–well, my husband and I noticed you feeling a bit under the weather, and we just wanted to make sure everything’s alright with you.”

Kim smiled mechanically. “Yes, thanks. That is very kind of you, but I am fine.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” replied Blanche at once. “I said to Carl, I said, she is such a pretty young lady, and she is on the tour all alone! I do hope everything is okay with your husband?” She ogled Kim’s left hand on the lookout for a wedding band.

Instinctively, Kim wrapped her right hand around her fingers, as if she had to hide the fact that she was not married. Silently, she cursed herself. Who was Blanche to judge her? “Oh, I am not married. And yes, everything is fine. Again, thank you for your kindness, but–”

“Divorced, then?” interrupted Blanche curiously. “Widowed?”

Kim shot an annoyed look at Carl, who was pretending to be distracted by a nearby squirrel.

“Well, regardless of your… situation,” continued Blanche, “you know what they say–it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Kim replied through clenched teeth. “Now please excuse me.”

She practically fled the scene, Blanche’s words still echoing through her mind.  _Loved and lost… as if._ Not that it mattered, or that it was anyone’s business but her own, but Kim had not lost anything. And Bonnie and Clyde… that was a fantasy. Kim was sure Bonnie would have been just as happy with another nice young man who did not rob banks for a living. And she probably would have lived longer, too. What had been Bonnie’s dream, anyway? What had she wanted to do with her life before she met Clyde? No one ever talked about what Bonnie had given up to be with Clyde. All anyone ever talked about was how much they had been in love. As if that mattered.

But then again… maybe a life of crime had been exactly what Bonnie had always wanted, and the reason she loved Clyde so much was because he had given it to her. Suddenly a memory popped into her mind, from a night almost two years ago.

“ _Follow my lead.”_

_And off he went, across the bar, to talk to the douchebag who had been speaking too loudly into his Bluetooth headset._

“ _An uncle on our father’s side recently passed, and he left us somewhere in the neighborhood of 1.4 million.”_

“ _I can give you a quick consult. I’m practically a money-printing machine.”_

“ _Viktor, with a K.”_

“ _Cool! And this lovely lady is…?”_

_And then all eyes were on her. She could have just left. She probably would have been just as happy if she had never agreed to the scam or anything that had followed. If Jimmy and her had never happened. But at that moment, Kim had made a choice. And although it had changed everything… she would make that same choice over and over and over again._

“ _It’s Giselle. Giselle Saint Claire.”_

Maybe Bonnie hadn’t given up anything to be with Clyde. Maybe he had finally introduced her to a world she had always dreamed of. Maybe Bonnie had known exactly what she was getting into.

Maybe that’s what had made it so good.

The thoughts captivated her until her plane touched the ground in Albuquerque. Kim walked into the arrivals hall half hoping Jimmy would be waiting for her, that he had tracked her credit card movements again and had come to apologize. But he was nowhere to be seen. She would just talk to him at home, then.

But when Kim got home, Jimmy was gone, his clothes missing, his things vanished. All that remained of him was the fish on her kitchen counter and a half-finished bottle Zafiro Añejo.

Kim emptied it that night.


	9. Monday, April 12, 2004

After two days on flats, her pumps hurt more than ever.

But the pain in her feet was nothing compared to the pain in Kim’s soul. She had never felt more alone than today. It was impossible to concentrate on anything. No matter how hard she tried: the thought of her empty apartment was a permanent fixture in her mind. It filled her with utter despair. Kim tried telling herself that it was not over yet–Jimmy had not officially ended the relationship, so technically, they were still together. But she knew that hope was futile. Tonight, when she would return, he would still be gone, and tomorrow as well, and the day after that, and the day after that, and every day for the rest of her life, and she would miss him forever, and she would have to live with the knowledge that it was her fault, that she had not loved him enough, that she had not loved the  _real_ him, that she had been so busy seeing the man he could be that she had ignored the man he was, damaged and flawed and perfect, and it had driven him away for good. Deep down she knew that it was far more complex than that, that Jimmy was just as much too blame. But she would analyze their demise some other time. Today, all she wanted to do was agonize and grief.

But that proved hard in a fully staffed law firm. There were too many distractions, too many colleagues and associates and clients that wanted something from her. Today, pulling herself together in front of them seemed so impossible. Kim did not trust herself with any important Mesa Verde documents–one more slip-up, and she would lose the account. On top of it all, Troy Collins’ arraignment was this afternoon, and she still needed time to review his case once more before meeting him for the first time. So Kim called her team together and doled out assignments.

Becoming head of Schweikart & Cokely’s banking division had been a steep learning curve for Kim. For so long, she had done everything herself. She was used to the workload and remembered it well. She also remembered being a low-level second-year associate, eager to make the partners finally notice her dedication and talent, learn her name, and bless her with some meaningful work. And she remembered being stuck in doc review for a mistake she had never committed.

Kim had learned from her experiences, and she had vowed to do better. At Schweikart & Cokely, she wanted to be a good leader and an even better teacher. Although her team of eager associates allowed her to focus solely on the big picture of Mesa Verde’s expansion while handing the mundane day-to-day business to her colleagues, Kim made a point not to frustrate the members of her team with repetitive or menial tasks. She wanted to make sure they knew how much she appreciated their work and dedication. If that meant doing some of the boring work herself, it was well worth it to keep her team happy.

This morning, however, Kim could not have cared less about her associates’ personal fulfillment. She really could not deal with Mesa Verde today. And if she had to pile additional tasks on her colleagues’ plates, so be it. After her team had gathered in the conference room, Kim briefly outlined the current status of the Monticello expansion and tasked Gary, Debbie and Pat with filing the relevant motions and preparing the needed documents. Pat could not hide his smile as he hurried back to his cubicle to get started on his assignments: it was the kind of complex and prestigious task Kim usually did herself. His reaction made clear that he was well-aware that Kim saw potential in him and wanted to reward him. Kim split the remaining workload between Zack and Lewis, two reliable and hardworking associates. That left Stef, who was tapping her foot against the leg of her chair nervously as she waited for Kim to tell her what to do.

Kim looked at her younger colleague through narrowed eyes. Stef had corrected Kim’s  _1216_ slip-up last week. Of course that did not mean anything. Kim knew that. If Stef had not done it, someone else would have. It had to be done. It was entirely Kim’s fault. She knew that. And yet… Stef had been the one to correct the mistake. Not Zack, not Debbie, not Pat. Stef. Kim could not just let this go unnoticed. She pretended to look at her notes to see which tasks were left. “Oh, Mesa Verde has new general terms and conditions,” she informed Stef. “So I need you to review all existing investment contract and send out letters to each investor telling them if, and how, that will affect their investments.”

Stef’s eyes widened in surprise for half a second before she had herself under control again. Kim could see the disbelief on her face. She knew that, inside, Stef was thinking two words.  _Doc Review?!?_ But Kim did not care. Life was not fair. It was time Stef learned this lesson. Kim had learned it at a far younger age.

Freed of all Mesa Verde tasks, Kim fled back into her office and let herself fall onto her couch, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She had been unnecessarily mean to Stef. But sometimes, these things just happened. And if they had to happen… Kim was content knowing that they happened to Stef.

Kim kicked off her shoes and pulled Troy Collins’ case file into her lap. She wanted to read it again before sitting back at her desk and beginning working on his defense, and reading was best done curled up on her couch. But even on her second reread, Kim did not find any apparent loopholes, nor remember any obscure case law she could cite to make this all go away. There were too many unanswered questions. What had Troy even done at the lumberyard? And why had he set it on fire? Kim would have to ask him a lot of questions before his arraignment today.

But when she got to the courthouse, Kim was running late and had little time for her client. She met him in the hallway, still in his orange jumpsuit, his handcuffs clicking menacingly. Despite the frown on his face, he looked forlorn and helpless. His shoulder-length blonde hair was matted, but he smelled of soap–at least he had taken a shower recently. Kim introduced herself to him as his legal counsel, but he just stared ahead blankly and said nothing.

Any other day, Kim would have found it in herself to have patience and understanding and let this go. But not today. She took a step closer and planted herself in front of him threateningly. “Listen, Troy, I really don’t have time for this, okay? Frankly, I don’t give a shit what you did or didn’t do. I don’t care. All I care about is representing you, because you have a legal right to be represented. That is my job. And I cannot do that if you won’t even talk to me. So you better wise up and cooperate with me. Jesus, you don’t even  _know_ half the stuff I have already done for you. How many hours I have spent thinking about ways to help you. How lucky you are to have me! Do you know how good I am at this job? You just see me and assume I don’t give a shit about you, because no one has  _ever_ given a shit about you. Is that it? Well, you are wrong, Troy. So you better start appreciating what I am doing for you, or I swear to God, I am leaving.”

The speech had flowed forward in a seemingly endless stream, and when she fell quiet, Kim was shocked at the urgency with which it had poured out of her. It was as if the words had been inside her all along, waiting for a chance to be spoken and finally become real. She was not even sure about half the things she had hissed at her client. She had stepped over a line, that much was certain. But before she could apologize or add something to take the sting out of her words, she saw Troy’s expression soften. “Okay,” he simply said. “Thank you.”

His reaction completely took her breath away. Kim resisted the urge to shake off her goosebumps and instead smiled warmly at Troy. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Heeding Kim’s advice, Troy plead not guilty. Despite being denied bail, he thanked her after his arraignment and shook her hand before he was handcuffed again and led away. He was beginning to warm up to her, Kim thought. They had agreed to meet in two days to talk about the case and plan their next steps. Kim had pretended she did not have time to talk today because she had other clients, but the truth was that she still was not able to focus on anything. It felt as if Jimmy had taken a part of her soul with him when he had left her apartment. Kim needed to heal her wounds. And Troy’s case was complex enough–discovery would take a few more weeks, so they had enough time to prepare for trial, if it came to this.

Not wanting to return to an empty home, Kim decided to go back to the office. She did not have anything important that needed to be done–she had assigned all that to her team–but at least she could try distracting herself from her demise. It seemed like a cruel joke: how many mornings had she fled to the office to escape Jimmy’s presence in her apartment? For so long, her office had felt like a safe haven, like the only place left where she could find herself again. Now, it felt like an empty cage where all she could do was pace back and forth, trying to fight the feeling that she had never been more lost.

As Kim walked back to her Audi, a realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. _The money._ She still had the non-bribe (Kim had no idea what else to call it) that Gus had left in her passenger’s seat. Or, more likely, that Gus had Mr. Clarke leave in her seat. More accurate yet: Mr. Ehrmantraut. Kim still had trouble wrapping her head around it all. For now, the money was tucked away safely below her trunk, where her spare tire used to be. But Kim knew this was only a temporary solution. She needed to figure out what to do with the money. She was still not sure if she wanted it. So far, the money had only caused problems. For a brief moment she had considered donating it, but Kim knew that creating evidence that could tie her to the money was probably not a wise move. She could hand it in to the police, of course, but that would probably open yet another can of worms and raise countless questions she was not ready to answer–most of all because she did not want to incriminate Gus. Kim knew how naïve that was of her, but there was something very likeable about the man and she did not want to cause him any trouble. She rolled her eyes at herself. _Sucker_. It was not that she did not believe in justice. It was just that she sometimes had the feeling that justice was not reflected in the laws very well.

Sighing, Kim came to a conclusion. She did not have to make a decision right now. As long as the money was safely hidden, she could agonize over what to do with it for as long as she pleased. And technically, hiding the money should not prove challenging. She was an expert in banking law, after all. There was no harm in doing a little research. Who said she would go through with it?

Poring over tax codes and investment regulations in her office, Kim was startled when she heard a knock on her door. She looked up, expecting to see Rich’s smiling face again, but it was Stef, nervously wringing her hands and biting her lower lip. Her neat hairdo had come a little lose since this morning, and Stef had utilized a pencil to hold it all together: doc review did not seem to agree with her. Kim was not sure what to think about that; inside her, she felt a weird cocktail of pity and satisfaction. She quickly closed the open tabs on her computer and invited Stef into her office.

The young woman hesitantly crossed the room, and as she got closer, Kim noticed a tinge of pink under her golden-brown complexion. Stef sat down in front of her and busied herself brushing the creases out of her dark blue skirt before looking up. “Kim, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?” Her voice was quivering as she spoke.

Kim’s face remained expressionless. “Sure, Stef.”

“Um,” her younger colleague began. “I do not mean to sound, uh, ungrateful, and let me begin by reiterating how deeply I appreciate learning from you. This is a great… opportunity to learn and I know it is a privilege to be here, and…” She continued praising Kim and the firm until Kim interrupted her. “Stef, what’s on your mind?” She thought she knew where this was going.

“Again, I hope this does not sound ungrateful,” Stef repeated. “But, uh, Kim, I was just wondering… the assignment… I understand that someone had to review the contracts, and as part of your team, of course that someone might have been me– _is_ me,” Stef stammered. “But I just wanted to ask you if there is maybe a specific reason why you chose me? Again, I do not mean this as criticism, but–”

“–but you are feeling as if I do not see your talent? Fearing that I believe you cannot handle more complex tasks?” Kim finished the question for her. She knew exactly how Stef felt.

“Um, well, yes,” her associate admitted shyly. “I just wanted to ask if there is maybe a mistake that I made, that I am not aware of.”

_Yes_ , Kim thought, but she knew better than to let her petty side win. “No,” she replied simply, not knowing what else to say. She was enraged at Stef’s insubordination and in awe of her courage. In so many ways, Stef reminded Kim of herself. She hoped Stef was happy with the path she had chosen.

Her colleague looked at Kim, uncertain if her boss would elaborate. When Kim said nothing, Stef said, “Thank you,” and got up.

Before she was out of her office, Kim called after Stef. The young attorney turned around. “Yes?”

“Stef, I am pushing you harder because I know I can expect more from you,” Kim lied, giving her pettiness a spin of benefaction.

Stef seemed taken aback for a moment. “Oh. Okay.” She left the office with a puzzled look on her face.

Kim turned her attention back to her computer. The screen had gone black during their conversation. Now she saw nothing but her own reflection in it, and for a second, Kim was surprised that the face staring back at her was not Howard Hamlin’s.

~ ~ ~

When Kim left the office, it was past nine. But she had no one to come home to, she reminded herself, so it did not matter. Nothing mattered today.

The drive to her apartment was long and silent. What could she even do when she got home? Watch a movie? That would just remind her of Jimmy. Work? She had not been able to focus at all today. Eat something? She had no appetite. For a moment, Kim considered stopping by Forque, but something made her hesitate. She had had more than enough booze last night already. She could not drown her sorrows in alcohol again. It was neither healthy nor helpful and it simply was not  _her_ . And then she realized that what she needed tonight was not distraction. It was closure.

Kim sighed deeply and turned her car around. A short time later, she pulled in next to Jimmy’s rusty Esteem and, shaking, got out of her car.

His offices–Saul’s offices, she reminded herself–seemed vacant, but light was coming from the back room and the front door was unlocked. Kim entered, crossed the lobby, and pushed open the door to the room that would become Saul’s office.

Jimmy did not notice her; he had his back turned to her and was struggling to hang a monstrous strip of wallpaper that did not seem to stick. Kim said nothing and watched him in silence. With every passing second, her chest felt more hollow, as if her heart had not just broken, but disappeared altogether. She longed to cross the room and wrap her arms around Jimmy, at least to say hello, but she feared what would happen if she did. For now, this stolen moment had to be enough. Jimmy could not have been more than ten feet from her, but he felt worlds away. Watching him, it finally became clear to Kim that they were no longer a part of each other’s lives, but merely spectators. Jimmy’s breath had become rugged from the exhaustion, his dark-grey V-neck stained with sweat. It broke her heart all over again when Kim remembered how, once upon a time, Jimmy had toiled until the late hours of the evening to paint a linked WM on a different wall in a different law firm, back when they had seemed as inseparable as the two letters. But these times were past now… now had come the time for wallpaper.

When she could no longer stand the torment her thoughts caused her, Kim broke the silence. “Is that the constitution?” Her voice sounded strong and sure and reverberated with a confident smirk. For the first time today, Kim was proud of herself for that.

Startled, Jimmy spun around. When he saw her, a smile flashed across his face, but it was replaced by a look of insecurity and discomfort almost instantly. He tried his best to mask it with a hesitant grin. “Oh. Hi.”

Why had she ever been angry with him? Kim returned his smile. “Hi. I, uh–you weren’t home last night, so I–never mind,” she began before nodding towards his wallpaper again. “So, the constitution?”

“Yeah, I thought it could be, like, my theme,” Jimmy explained, the tiniest bit more casual. “Did you know that you have rights? The constitution says you do!” He tentatively pointed a finger at her, as if trying to recruit her for the Army.

Kim felt a wave of fondness wash over her.  _Of course_ he had already chosen a tagline for his TV commercial. She pointed to the wallpaper that was beginning to peel off again. “Need help with that?”

His eyes darted back and forth between her and the wallpaper, and Jimmy slowly nodded. “Thanks.”

With every step she took towards him, Kim’s feet seemed to become heavier; it was as if a strong and powerful magnet was pulling her away from Jimmy and as soon as she stopped fighting it, it would launch her into the abyss.

They hung two strips of wallpaper together, and as the time went on Jimmy seemed to relax more and more around Kim. She gladly picked up this change of course and responded with a quip or two, and soon they were almost normal again, Jimmy bubbling with stories and anecdotes, Kim laughing and feeling at peace. In Jimmy’s presence it was so easy to forget her empty apartment and her fears and worries and the huge fight they had in Dallas. They took a smoking break in the alley behind his offices, leaning against the wall side by side, and when Jimmy reached over and stole the cigarette out of her mouth like he always did, Kim thought that, maybe, their rift could heal again after all. Somewhere, deep down, they were still perfect together. She had to make him see this before it was too late. After Jimmy had stuck the cigarette between her lips again, Kim took one last drag and tossed it to the ground. Then she turned to him, grabbed his shirt, and leaned in to kiss him.

But before their lips could touch, Jimmy gently put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her away. “Kim… I–listen, we gotta talk.”

Kim had thought she had already gone numb from the pain, but Jimmy’s words cut her sharper than she ever would have expected it. Instinctively, she flinched before forcing herself to push back her shoulders and hold her head high. She had to get through this with as much dignity as she could muster. Kim nodded. “You’re breaking up with me.” Of course he was. Had she really thought they still had a future together? “I understand.” She would not let him see her cry, she could not. “Do you want me to bring by your fish tomorrow after work, or do you want to pick it up yourself?”

Jimmy stared at her blankly, as if she had just spoken Sanskrit. “What? I–No!” he finally stammered. “I’m not breaking up with you! I thought you had broken up with me in Dallas!”

Kim felt a little relieved, and a little concerned, and confused, and very, very tired. It was just as it had been after their huge fight on the rooftop, after Jimmy’s reinstatement had been denied the first time. How many more times could they have this fight, and this aftermath, before one of them would finally give up? Not knowing what else to say, Kim finally said, “No.”

Jimmy’s head jerked, as if he was nodding, shrugging and frowning at the same time. “Uh, okay then.” He sounded less relieved than Kim had hoped, and just as tired as she felt. “Then… what is this, Kim? Are we just gonna go on like this?”

She knew exactly what he meant, but she asked, “Like what?”

Jimmy threw his hands up in exasperation. “Like, you know… this!” He gesticulated wildly between them. “I mean, you just sneaking off to Dallas in the middle of the night–”

“Jimmy, that was one time!” Kim interrupted him. 

“You know what I mean!” Jimmy shot back. “It’s like… It’s like you’re constantly building walls between us, and I knock ‘em down over and over and over, but… Kim, I’m kind of running out of hammers here.” His tone had changed, he had begun to sound less sure of himself. He seemed smaller now, younger, more vulnerable.

Kim thought about his words for a moment, but they did not make sense. “You’re… running out of hammers,” she repeated slowly, wondering if he had just accused her of something or insulted her, and if he really thought things seemed so broken.

Jimmy shook his head with frightening finality and walked back inside. Kim hesitated before following him. She felt like an intruder in his office, like a ghost of his past. He threw himself on his couch, and his sigh resonated with the absolute weariness in his soul. Kim lingered at the door, uncertain. “You know, like, first we scam Ken the douchebag and things are good until I realize you’re a hot shot attorney and I’m just some jackass in a hotel pool, then I take the job at Davis & Main and things are good until I inadvertently get Howard to stick you in doc review, then I give you Wexler McGill and things are good until I–”

“Yeah, maybe that’s the problem,” Kim said as soon as the thought crossed her mind. It seemed to make sense. “Because you are constantly trying to… be someone who you think I might like, instead of… just being you.”

Jimmy threw away a bitter laugh. “Every time I was me, you weren’t a fan.”

Kim froze. “What?”

“Like when I told you about the video I made, remember, of the guy sitting in pie? You told me you never wanted to hear about that sort of thing ever again! Or when I got you Mesa Verde back! We left Chuck’s house that day and I seriously thought you were gonna kill me, you were so mad!”

Kim allowed herself to step a little further into his office and balanced herself on the edge of Jimmy’s couch, still far away from him. “Jimmy, I wasn’t mad at you because you got me Mesa Verde back,” she explained wearily.

“Oh yeah?” Jimmy asked sarcastically. “The way you were beating me up in my car tells another story.”

Kim had no idea how to make him understand. “I was mad at you because you  _cared enough_ to get me Mesa Verde back.”

“Yes, I–what?”

Kim looked at him and willed her voice to be calm. “Jimmy, I never cared about Mesa Verde. It was great to get me out of doc review, and then that didn’t work out, so we started Wexler McGill, and taking Mesa Verde with me… it just made sense. I assured I was able to afford Wexler McGill. Also, I got to stick it to Howard, that was fun.” She realized how true the words were. She had never allowed herself to even think it, but now that she had said the words it was as if a huge weight had been lifted from her soul. “And then you went through all this trouble and made this huge deal out of it and started talking how Mesa Verde was my destiny or whatever…”

Her words seemed to have surprised Jimmy. “So, what? What, you don’t care about Mesa Verde?”

Kim thought for a moment before she spoke. “I got into the law to help people in need. To do  _good_ . To change lives. Mesa Verde… it’s not that.” Suddenly, she felt as if she could breathe again.

“So?” asked Jimmy. “Why don’t you quit?”

Kim laughed in disbelief. “Because! It’s not that simple! I’m a partner in one of the biggest and most renowned law firms in the state; hell, one of the most renowned law firms in the country. I’ve worked my entire life to get to where I am today. And Mesa Verde… they are a prestigious client. And you and I have put them through enough crap already. They deserve consistency from now on. Professionalism. Plus, they have made me rich beyond my wildest dreams. I feel like I owe them.”

Jimmy’s face lit up with a crooked smile. “Well, you said the same about HHM, and look how that turned out.”

She ignored that. “I have my PD clients to do good, and Mesa Verde to earn a living. It’s a good arrangement.”

He read between her lines, like only he could. “But it’s not what you want, is it?”

Kim looked into his eyes with all sincerity. “No.”

He simply held her gaze and said nothing, and at that moment she felt closer to him than she ever had, and also worlds apart. She wanted to smile, but she did not remember how. After a while, Jimmy asked, “Then what do you want?”

Kim wished they were outside again; she longed for another cigarette. “Jimmy, when you walked out on Davis & Main… I cannot say that I got it, but I respected it,” she began. “It simply wasn’t your way to practice law. And a little part of me hated you for that, because you tanked the best opportunity of your life, but another part of me admired you, because you knew what you wanted, and Davis & Main simply wasn’t it. And Mesa Verde… it’s not what I want, and lately…” She thought long if she should finish the sentence, but then decided finally to be honest. “Lately it just feels so unfair that I have to suck it up and do what is  _good_ and  _right_ while you get to practice law the way you want it.”

She wasn’t sure if she was being fair; was criminal law even what he wanted, or was it just his plan B because he could not go back to elder law? Mercifully, Jimmy did not disagree with her.

“I want what you have,” Kim finished. “Well, not _that_ ,” she added with a smile, pointing at the wallpaper. “That’s trash.”

He laughed. “Kim, you have worked so hard to get to where you are.”

Kim shrugged. “The fallacy of sunk costs.”

They sat in silence for a moment and stared at the trashy wallpaper, Kim’s words still echoing through the silence. Finally, Jimmy turned his head and looked at her. “So what now?”

This time, he did not push her back when she leaned in to kiss him. 


	10. Tuesday, April 13, 2004

Her arm had fallen asleep, her shoulder might as well have gotten dislocated, and her back hurt like hell. But when Kim woke up in Jimmy’s arms on the floor of his new offices, she felt… happy. She turned her face towards him. “Good morning.”

He slowly opened his eyes, and when he saw her, a sly smile spread on his lips. “Hi.”

They shared a tender kiss before Kim got up and started hunting down her clothes that had been tossed all over the room the night before. Jimmy watched her with a contented look on his face. “Way to christen my office.”

Kim snorted a laugh. “Jesus, it’s been twenty years since I did  _that_ outside my bed.”

“I’m glad I could help,” he quipped and stood up to pull on his boxers. “Now I have something to think about whenever I’m sitting at my desk.”

She smiled and shook her head, shooing the memories of last night away. “It really was… something else. What time is it? I have to go home and take a shower. I cannot show up at work like this.”

“So you’re still going in today, huh?” Jimmy asked casually, but Kim heard the urgency in his voice. She paused buttoning up her blouse (at least the buttons that were still attached) and looked at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I’m going.”

He hid his disappointment underneath a bright smile. “Will I see you tonight, though?”

“If you play your cards right,” Kim replied and struggled into her blazer.

This morning, her apartment did not seem so empty any more, and when Kim reached for her toothbrush, it almost did not hurt to see his missing. She took a quick shower and changed her clothes and was almost out the bathroom when something caught her eye. Connor’s check, still taped to her bathroom mirror.

Instinctively, Kim took it up and let her thumb run over his signature. He had pressed down hard, his pen leaving deep lines in the paper. She traced the words.

_One hundred and fifty thousand dollars -----_

_Ice Station Zebra Associates_

Suddenly, an idea sprang into her head fully formed.

At the office, Kim assembled her team of associates for an update on the assignments she had given them. Like yesterday, she waited until the end to address Stef.

Her colleague but on a brave smile before she answered. “I would say I am about halfway done. I stayed late last night, but it is… quite a lot. But I will finish it tonight. I don’t have any plans, so I can stay as late as you need me,” she finished with an eager look in her eyes.

Kim smiled warmly. “It’s okay, Stef. Could you help Pat with his motions today? If you both work on it, you might be able to get out of here at a reasonable hour.”

For a second, panic and confusion flickered in Stef’s eyes. “Really? I–I didn’t mean, yesterday–”

“It’s okay,” Kim interrupted her. “Really. I’ll have one of the assistants finish up doc review for you.”

“Uhm.” For a moment, Stef seemed at a loss for words. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Kim replied sincerely. “You do good work, Stef. I mean it. You’ve earned this.”

Back in her office, Kim locked Troy’s case file in her desk so she wasn’t tempted and began pulling out her Mesa Verde folders. They were on track with the paperwork for the Monticello branch. The hearing was in six weeks.

_For now_ . Kim put up her phone and began dialing. When someone answered, she put her brightest smile into her voice and chirped, “Hiii, this is Kim Wexler from Schweikart & Cokeley, calling on behalf of Mesa Verde? How  _are_ you?”

Twenty minutes later, Kim hung up the phone with a triumphant grin, stood up, and practically skipped to the center of her room, where she jumped with joy. “Yes!” Upon landing, her heels dug deep into her carpet, and for a second Kim almost lost her balance, but then she found it again. She danced back to her desk, her feet light as a feather, threw herself into her chair and kicked her shoes off as she started dialing the next number.

“Yes?”

“Paige!” Kim greeted her, breathless. “I have great news. I was able to move up the hearing for the Monticello branch in Utah. Are you free next week on Tuesday?”

“I–what–Kim!” For the first time in a long time, Paige sounded genuinely happy. “That’s amazing! Yes!”

“If all goes well, we can start construction on the building a month from now,” Kim replied and added, “I will have one of my associated double-check every piece of paperwork we will file.”

“Thank you,” Paige said formally, and for a moment Kim’s past mistakes were palpable in their conversation until Paige continued, her voice happier and carefree now. “I will call Kevin right away and let him know. He will be thrilled!”

“Give him my best,” Kim responded. “I will get started on the paperwork for Monroe. We might be able to start construction on both branches within this quarter!”

And so Kim worked. She filed permits, she typed motions, she sent e-mails. She reviewed blueprints and looked at case law and reviewed statues. Time flew by her.

She was utterly bored the entire day.

When Kim finally shut down her computer, she was one of the last ones still in the building. A few weeks ago, she would not have given it another thought. Now she asked herself what it would be like if Mr. Ehrmantraut used the opportunity to pay her another visit. She did not know whether to be relieved or sad when he did not.

The thoughts followed her on the drive over. She still had not made a decision. That alone was frightening her. She never even should have considered the offer in the first place. She should have firmly declined. No, she never even should have gone to the dinner. Never should have purchased a gun. That part of her life was over now, left behind in Nebraska where it belonged.

Suddenly she remembered Bonnie’s .38, and how much it had fascinated her, and for a fleeting moment her words from last night echoed through her mind.  _“Lately it just feels so unfair that I have to suck it up and do what is good and right…”_ Was it guilt she was feeling? But guilt over what? Guilt for wanting to stray from the straight and narrow? But did she even want that? Or was it just a temporary rough patch, something she just had to push through? Was she really  _considering_ thinking about Gus’s offer in earnest?

Shaking, Kim stepped on her brakes, navigated onto an empty parking lot, and jumped out of her car. She needed air. She needed a smoke. She needed to stop that train of thoughts before it derailed in her mind and unleashed destruction over everything she had worked so hard to build for herself.

She just had to rationalize her fears and anxieties. She was good at that… wasn’t she? Kim took a drag from her cigarette and thought. As far as she saw it, she had three problems. No,  _problems_ was too strong a word. Three… challenges. No, that sounded like some corporate synonym for problem. Three… whatever. What did it matter what she called it? Three things. Thing one: her relationship with Jimmy. Thing two: her unhappiness with her job. Thing three: Gus’s offer.

So far, so good. She had acknowledged the… things. That was the first step. Kim took another drag from her cigarette and allowed herself a brief moment of victory.

Step two: address the things. Thing one: Jimmy. She was on her way over to him. She had not given up hope yet. And that was all she allowed herself to think about that now. Thing two: Mesa Verde. It sucked. She could no longer pretend to care about their expansion. And she could no longer lie to herself and tell herself it was just a phase, that she would start caring about Mesa Verde again. She had tried that, and it had not worked out. And that was all she allowed herself to think about  _that_ now. Thing three: Gus. It was intriguing, she had to admit. And, yes, a small part of her was wondering what it might be like if she said yes… but that did not mean she would. It did not even mean she actually  _wanted to_ . It just meant she was fed up with Mesa Verde, and Gus seemed like a way out. She did not want what he offered because of all the things his offer was. She wanted it because of all the things his offer was  _not_ .

Her cigarette turned to ash, Kim took a deep, cleansing breath and pushed back her shoulders. When she had left Nebraska, the knowledge that she was in charge of her own destiny had been a beacon of hope, an almost divine concept she clung to even at her lowest, when she had to go to bed hungry because she could not afford a decent meal after spending her meager earnings on law text books. Now, she found the thought terrifying. She already had everything she ever wanted. Where could she possibly go from here, if not down?

Not wanting to confuse herself further, Kim got back into the car and turned the radio on to drown out her thoughts.

She found Jimmy kneeling on the floor, his upper body disappearing into a hole in his wall. He had hung the wallpaper. It was just as trashy as it had been yesterday. Kim smiled and sat down on his couch, watching him in silence for a while, strangely at peace.

When his head emerged again, hair covered in dust, she could not help but grin. “Hi.”

“Kim!” Jimmy exclaimed excited and began dusting himself off before walking over to her and planting a quick kiss on her lips. It was so beautifully normal that it made her head spin. Before Jimmy could move away again, Kim instinctively grabbed his shirt and pulled him on the couch next to her. Then she kicked off her shoes and snuggled into his arms.

He instantly embraced her, but muttered a silent protest. “Hey, I’m covered in dust. You’re gonna ruin your clothes…”

“Shh,” Kim replied, rested her head in his lap and closed her eyes. He gently raked his fingers through her hair, his touch so soft it almost tickled. She could feel the callous on his fingers from all the work he’d been doing.

“What were you doing in the wall?” Kim asked him sleepily, enjoying his touch.

“Oh.” For a moment, his hand stopped trailing across her cheek and she felt his body clench ever so slightly. “That was, uh, just some construction work. There’s this support beam, and I–”

“Jimmy.” Kim sat up and turned her face towards him. His eyes were warm and soft, but there were small wrinkles around them that Kim noticed tonight for the first time. Suddenly it infuriated her that Jimmy had to start all over again, that he still had not found anything resembling a routine. She did not know whether to blame Chuck for it. Then again, without his brother, Jimmy might be stuck in an Illinois prison right now, or worse. She silenced the thoughts and focused on the here and now. “Please don’t lie to me.”

He took a deep breath, as if to protest or spin an elaborate lie, but seemed to think better of it. His fingers trailed lazily up and down her forearm before he muttered, “Well, it’s for a safe.”

Kim furrowed her brow. “Aaaand…?” A safe was not  _that_ unheard of; if some clients brought him incriminating evidence, it was a downright necessity. There had to be more to it.

Jimmy smiled and shook his head slightly, almost amused at her curiosity. “And I already have some stuff in there, but you said you didn’t want to hear about that sort of thing, so… we can just drop it.” He practically jumped off the couch and began gesticulating in that  frantic manner of his. “Do you want to order some food? There’s a great place over on fourth street,” he wildly pointed in the general direction, “we could have Vietnamese. Or–”

“No, I want to know.” The words had left her mouth before she even realized she had spoken them, but Kim knew they were true. She wanted to know, needed to know, what Jimmy was doing. She yearned for the excitement and thrill that came from bending the rules with him, even if it was just as an accessory after the fact.

He fell silent, and for a moment his surprise was writ large on his face. “Uh, okay.” He sat down next to her again, squirming before he continued. “It’s… for my cash. From my… phones.”

A few weeks ago, Kim mused, she would have felt disappointed in him now, or at the very least, concerned or worried. But now she remembered  the crazy cons she had already pulled with Jimmy , and for a fleeting second, Kim Wexler felt invincible. “How much is it?”

In response, Jimmy got up, walked across the room, and disappeared into the hole in the wall again. A few moments later he reemerged and pointed. “See for yourself.”

Kim followed him. There, in the wall, was  the safe, and Jimmy had just opened it so she could see what was inside. Kim’s jaw fell open. This was serious cash. “Holy shit.”

Jimmy looked down for a brief moment, like a kid that had been caught copying homework. “Yeah.” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s all legit. I didn’t steal it or anything. I just, you know… didn’t pay taxes.”

Kim nodded, feeling a little guilty about her giddiness. Seemingly she was not the only one in the relationship who hid large stacks of cash. “What are you gonna do with it?” she asked, trying her best to mask the excitement in her voice and failing.

“That’s the best part,” Jimmy announced proudly. “I’ll hire Francesca back.”

Kim felt a surge of happiness rush through her. She had always liked  their old receptionist , and it had bothered her that she had not been able to take her with her to Schweikart & Cokely. “Jimmy, that’s great!” Francesca felt like a relic from their past, when they had started Wexler McGill. Kim missed her, and everything she stood for.

Visibly relieved by her positive reaction, Jimmy muscles relaxed underneath his shirt, and his lips blossomed into a sly smirk. “ See, I did not want to tell you that because you’re always such a stickler for the rules.”

Kim had to laugh; it seemed like years since the last time Jimmy had teased her like that. “Me? A stickler? Who is Giselle, then, my twin sister?”

To her surprise, Jimmy responded with an enigmatic look. “Giselle is the greatest mystery of my life.”

She did not know how to respond to that, so she brushed it off with a laugh. “Seriously though, Jimmy. It’s your business and all, but here’s a friendly bit of advice. If you are using that money to pay Francesca’s salary, you better… make sure it is  unimpeachable .”

Jimmy seemed taken aback for a moment. “W hat, now you’re giving me lessons on how to be a criminal?”

“Not lessons. Just advice,” Kim reassured him. “Until you have enough clients that anyone might reasonably assume you make enough money to hire a secretary, you better come up with a damn good explanation where that money is coming from.”

He nodded, lost in thought, and raised his hand in the air as if to speak a vow. “Scout’s honor.”

They spent the rest of the night like this: easily falling into an old, long forgotten routine, learning to  trust  each other again, and there were moments when Kim could almost physically feel the rift between them healing. She could not believe it had been less than three days since their fight. She hoped with every fiber of her being that it had been the last one.

That night, Kim did not spend  at Jimmy’s office, as much as she wanted to; her back was aching too much not to sleep on her mattress. Before she left, she packed  Jimmy’s clothes and took them home with her, where they belonged.


	11. Wednesday, April 16 – Sunday, April 18, 2004

It was a thick folder, stuffed with pages: police reports, arrest orders, search warrants, drug tests. But there were also other documents: a high school diploma, a letter of recommendation from a guidance counselor, a poem he had written during his first incarceration that brought tears to  Kim’s eyes.  She  knew it by heart. Since accepting Troy’s case, his life had become alive in her mind, the thought of him ever present in her memory. Somehow he fascinated and intrigued her, more than her PD clients usually did. She had met him only once, but when she thought of him, she felt as if she was thinking of an old friend. God only knew why.

But when she entered the small room the prison had granted them for their meeting, Troy seemed unrecognizable. Kim had met him as a forlorn kid, his adolescent rage at the world and the system  emanating from him like nuclear radiation. Yet maybe that had allowed them to bond: because Kim had not only understood, but shared his anger at the unfairness of the choices life had forced upon her. For a little moment Troy had given her the feeling that they were alone together, and that had been enough to build some sort of trust.

Today, however, it seemed as if Troy’s anger had evolved and turned into an attitude of simply not caring. He watched her with an amused smirk on his face as she sat down across from him.

Kim tried not to let that discourage her. Determinedly, she took out the case file and placed it on the table next to her notepad. Finally she pulled out a blue fountain pen, uncapped it, put it on top of her notepad, and looked at Troy with what she hoped was a warm smile that hid her fear that this meeting would turn into a colossal waste of time. “Troy. How are you?”

Troy leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and  said nothing, an almost amused smirk on his lips .

Kim did the same, her eyes not leaving his.

When neither of them had spoken for what felt like hours, Kim let out a deep sigh, leaned forward, and capped her pen again. “Troy,” she said again, her voice kind and understanding this time. “What happened?”

“Nah… I better not tell you,” Troy responded with a crooked smile.

Kim arched an eyebrow. “I’m just here to help you. And I can do that a lot better if you cooperate with me a little. I am on your side. Really.”

“Ah, I’ll take my chances,” Troy responded in a hollow voice Kim did not know how to interpret. “You should leave.”

“Then how do you expect me to defend you during your trial?”

Troy shrugged. “You’ll figure something out.”

Before Kim could process his words, Troy had turned around and yelled for the guard on the other side of the door. “You should leave now, Kim,” he added, turning back to her. “Goodbye.”

Kim could only watch in stunned silence as Troy was being escorted back to his cell. Deep in the pit of her stomach, a dark feeling was beginning to spread: that this case was even more complex than she had anticipated.

At home, Kim buried herself in Troy’s file again, hoping to find a detail she had overlooked, any sort of explanation why Troy’s behavior had changed so suddenly. But no matter how often she read the pages, she found none. Sighing, Kim pulled Troy’s mug shot out of the folder and looked at it. He was so bloody young.  _The fallacy of youth_ , Kim mused. Where had she been, back when she was his age? And how naive? She smiled wistfully. There were so many lessons young Kim had had to learn, so many mistakes she had had to make.

Suddenly, Kim saw it: part of a tattoo on  Troy’s chest that was peeking out underneath his V-neck. She peered closer. The picture was  grainy, and the lighting was less than ideal… but that looked as if it was part of a bird’s wing. If she squinted and used a little imagination, those definitely looked like feathers.

Just to be sure, she showed the picture do Jimmy and asked him what he saw.

He looked at it for a moment, tilting first his head and then the picture. Kim watched him with bated breath, eager to hear his response. “Looks like a Raven Kings tattoo.”

“I know!” Kim exclaimed and pulled out Troy’s file again. “But why would he have that? There are no known gang affiliations on his rap sheet. Isn’t that something the police usually know about?”

Jimmy studied the picture again, thinking. “I don’t know. Maybe he hasn’t been in the MC for very long.”

Kim took the picture out of his hand and inspected the tattoo again. “That ink does not look particularly new, though.”

Jimmy shrugged. “What does it matter, anyway?”

“Hmmm,” Kim hummed in response. “There’s gotta be more to it.”

It was a neat theory: the Raven Kings Motorcycle Club had been kingpins of Albuquerque’s underworld for decades. Infamous for gun running, drug trafficking, and operating a number of illicit brothels across the state, the gang nevertheless reveled in a certain popularity with citizens and law enforcement alike—if only for their one legit business, a distillery producing gin flavored with local botanicals, and a high-end liquor store that offered fine imported spirits from all over the world.

The next morning, Kim returned to the prison and asked to see Troy again. She had thought about how best to approach this and settled on being straightforward, so without hesitation, she pushed his mugshot across the table and pointed at his tattoo. “Wanna tell me more about that?”

For a second, Troy seemed startled before he caught himself. “That’s just some tattoo.”

“That’s a Raven Kings tattoo,” Kim corrected him, sounding far more certain than she actually was.

He crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and looked at her smugly. “So what if it is?”

“Well,” Kim began, irritation and anger rising within her, “that would explain a lot, actually. First and foremost why you do not want to work with me here. What it does not explain is why they do not get you representation, because I _know_ they have some of the best lawyers on retainer.”

“So you haven’t figured it out, huh?” Troy whispered, as if he was mocking her. “You thought you are so smart, but you don’t know it, do you?”

“Then tell me!” Kim demanded in a tone much louder than she intended. “Face it, Troy: as long as you do not sign away your right to an attorney, you are stuck with me. And I am not giving up on you.”

“Yeah, maybe you should.” Troy sounded almost amused again, and it drover her insane.

To her own surprise, Kim reacted with a dry laugh. “You don’t know shit about me either, Troy. I don’t give up, even when I should.” She forced the memory of Saul Goodman from her mind almost on instinct. She had gotten a lot of experience doing it.

“I’m not a member, okay?” Troy suddenly volunteered. “So you can just drop it.”

Kim did nothing of the sort. “But that is a Raven Kings tattoo?”

“Yes,” Troy responded and yanked at his shirt to allow Kim a look at the inked raven on his chest, its claws spread menacingly. “So what?”

“So, the prosecution is gonna have a field day with this if they find out.”

Troy’s features softened, and a sly smirk spread on his lips. “Tsk tsk tsk, I thought I told you to drop it.”

“And I thought I told you I don’t give up,” Kim shot back.

Troy shook his head, as if exasperated by her persistence. “You’re a piece of work, Kim Wexler, you know that, right?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Kim noted dryly.

Troy fell silent for a moment, studying her with a wicked grin on his face. It was a very peculiar feeling, but Kim did her best to ignore it and instead planned an impromptu plan of attack. If he was not a member, why did he have the tattoo? Was he an ex-member? Then they would have made him black out the ink, wouldn’t they? She would have to learn the story of that tattoo to understand this case, that much was certain. Kim knew they had to be connected somehow. But just asking about it would be far too suspicious. There was only one strategy that seemed as if it might work. “So, let me get this straight,” Kim pretend to sum up what she knew. “You get a Raven Kings tattoo for fun or because you think it looks badass, and then you move to Albuquerque, and maybe run into a Raven Kings member who takes offense, and when he says something, you… try to shoot him at the lumberyard?” She pretended to wonder if her story was plausible. It felt a lot like scamming someone in a bar, she mused. Only this time, it was not for fun, it was… for what, exactly? What stopped her from just dropping this case, like Troy so clearly wanted? She could not help but care about Troy’s fate, and she thought she knew the reason why, but she would not acknowledge it, certainly not now.

Troy breathed a disbelieving laugh. “Wow. None of what you said was correct.”

Kim frowned in mock frustration. “Okay, so you didn’t get that tattoo in Dallas? You got it here?”

“Oh, I got it in Dallas,” Troy said lazily, as if he did not realize that he was just where Kim had wanted him all along.

“So you got it in Dallas, but because _you already knew someone from the Raven Kings_!” Kim exclaimed, acting very proud of her deduction.

“Jesus, you never give up, do you?” Troy asked her, seemingly amused by her desperate attempts to figure out what he clearly regarded a well-kept secret.

“You didn’t deny it,” Kim reminded him with a wink. “So that means I was right.”

Troy shook his head, smiling. “My dad’s the president. So what.”

“And you’re really not a member?” Kim asked, not hiding her curiosity.

As expected, Troy seemed flattered by her interest in his connection to the MC. “Not yet.”

“Oh,” Kim said casually. “So you’re a… what do they call it? Prospect?”

Troy remained silent. Kim decided to push him a little further. “That sounds pretty cool, to be honest.”

“Yeah,” Troy said sarcastically and shook his manacles to remind Kim they were there. “I’m the epitome of coolness right now.”

“Well, going to jail to protect your club… that’s kinda cool. In a criminal sort of way,” Kim replied.

Troy shrugged and did not respond.  _So I was right_ , Kim thought.  _This is all gang related. I just have to figure out how exactly._

When she left the prison two hours later, Kim had trouble containing the triumphant smile on her lips. Now she knew. And although she could probably not prevent Troy from going to jail, she could really give this case a spin.

She drove to Saul’s office as if on autopilot and burst through the door, brimming with pent-up energy. She had not felt that good about her job in a long time. Today had been about so much more than the law. It had been about playing Troy, learning his story and turning it into a battle strategy. His fate was in her hands now. And she would not disappoint him. Because she was  _good_ .

Jimmy was sitting at his desk, flipping through the pages of a catalog for office supplies. “Oh, Kim! I thought you were at work,” he said in lieu of a greeting, his surprise pleasant. Kim ignored the implied question, crossed the room, and swiped the catalog off his desk in one grand motion. Kissing him hungrily, she let herself sink on the desk where the catalog had lain moments before, and pulled him on top of her.

~ ~ ~

Her feeling of euphoria lasted until she opened the paper Sunday morning and read the front page.

_MORE GANG VIOLENCE: CANAL MURDER AND LUMBERYARD FIRE CONNECTED_

_ALBUQUERQUE (dn) A source in the DA’s office has revealed that the police have discovered shocking new facts in the case of the murdered woman whose remains were found in a canal outside the city on April 4 of this year. The police have strong evidence that the homicide is related to the Old Mill lumberyard fire that occurred on the same day._

_Troy Collins, the prime suspect in the lumberyard fire, is now thought to be connected to the homicide as well. Says the source, “The police cannot rule out the possibility that he killed her, although a DNA test was inconclusive.”_

_This is not Troy Collin’s first run-in with the law: the 21-year-old man has been known to Albuquerque police officers since he moved to the city three years ago. Recently, evidence has emerged that he might be affiliated with the Raven Kings MC. The police are investigating every angle and plan to hold a press conference later next week._

_Troy Collins is represented by Kim Wexler of Albuquerque law firm Schweikart & Cokeley, who was unavailable for comment when we reached out to her. Family lawyer Franklin Townsend has known Ms. Wexler for several years and is well familiar with her defense style. “Kim is ruthless,” he told us in an exclusive interview. “She has a talent for finding and exploiting loopholes. With her twisting the law, it would not surprise me if Troy Collins was acquitted, no matter how much evidence there is against him.”_

Groaning, Kim shoved the newspaper aside. From what she had seen at a glace, the article was based on pure speculation and nowhere close to what Troy had told her about that night.

The paper had not reached out to her, but even if they had, she would not have given them an interview anyway. So now they had found another “source.” She could have scratched Franklin’s eyes out. Kim barely knew the guy. They had talked once, in law school, at a frat party that Kim had fled after about ten minutes. It seemed as if he was trying to weasel his way into a few minutes of fame.  _Pathetic._

Then a thought rose in her, ridiculous and out of place.  _What if Gus reads this?_ Would he still want to work with her? She cursed herself for attracting this publicity. What if Gus deemed her too known, associating with her too risky, and withdrew his offer? It was not that she wanted to accept his offer, she quickly reassured herself. It was just that she wanted to have the option to decline it before it was  taken away from her. The drop phone was still locked away in her security safe, together with her Glock. Maybe she should go  to a range and shoot it, to blow off some steam, she thought. But that would mean seeing Gus’s phone when she opened the safe, and she was just not ready for that. Kim tried to  recall what she had used to do for fun. It seemed like a memory of a different life. There had been so much work lately, and bailing Jimmy out of trouble. Who even was she, when she was not a lawyer, or Jimmy’s girlfriend? The memory of a girl’s night came to her, from several years ago. But that had been with Paige. It would feel wrong to call her now and ask her to spend the day together. The only other friend Kim had had was Jimmy, but he was no longer just a friend, and although things between them seemed to be better, she knew she just could not escape herself for the day while he was around.

Exasperated, Kim reached for the remote and began flicking through the channels. Maybe a movie would distract her.  _Attractive men in the snow, my favorite genre._ A haunted smile descended on her face. She missed the  woman she had been in Fort Worth: free, careless, herself. She would have done anything to get her back, but she had no idea how.


	12. Monday, April 19 – Friday, April 23, 2004

It had seemed like such a typical day: Kim had brooded over building regulations, typed letters of intent, arranged hearings and coordinated field visits to building sites in three different states. Her work for Troy lay dormant at the moment; she thought it was best to wait what the police found out before she planned a defense strategy. The prospect alone was exhilarating. She would have to talk to Rich eventually to ask for a sabbatical—the trial would take a few weeks at least, and she would not be able to focus on her banking work during that time, which meant it was all the more important to prepare her Mesa Verde cases as far in advance as possible.

She did not go to lunch that day; instead, she quickly snuck out for a salad that she ate at her desk over the course of the afternoon, hunched over work. She had just taken the last bite when her intercom buzzed. “Kim, Rich wants to see you in his office.”

“I’ll be right there,” Kim responded, already struggling into her blazer and applying a shade of lipstick before slipping into her shoes. Somehow it had become a habit to kick them off whenever she was sitting at her desk, although the stiff leather had begun to soften more and more in the past few days. Now, they were almost comfortable. Kim knocked at Rich’s door and hesitantly poked her head into his office. “You wanted to see me?”

Rich looked up from his computer screen and smiled warmly. “Yes, Kim. Please, come in. Sit.”

Kim had taken two steps into his office when she saw it: Sunday’s newspaper. Steeling herself for an unpleasant conversation, she sat down and put on a brave  face . “Yes?”

Rich studied her for a moment, his usual, jovial smile on his lips. “Kim, I have to talk to you about your latest PD case.”

He had cut right to the chase, Kim noted. She begrudgingly respected that. “You read the article,” she observed and pointed at the paper.

A worried expression clouding his features, Rich nodded and reached for the newspaper. Now, Kim could see that the paragraph pertaining to her had been highlighted yellow. It was a very irritating sight. It created a very odd feeling in her, almost as if Rich had seen her naked.

“Look, I have always respected your PD work,” Rich began what Kim thought sounded like a rehearsed speech. “But I am sure you would agree with me that there is a line—maybe not a legal, but certainly a moral one.” He smiled at her to take the sting out of his words, but that only irritated Kim further, and she quickly looked away to forget the sight. “And I fear that this Troy Cummings case is crossing it.”

“Collins,” Kim corrected him automatically.

“Collings,” Rich repeated, in a tone that made it clear that he could not have cared less about Troy’s last name. Kim decided against correcting him a second time. “Do you understand what I am saying, Kim?”

Kim forced herself to look at Rich again, hoping her expression was sufficiently neutral. “You’re saying I should  drop the case .”

Rich grimaced. “That would certainly put my mind at ease. The other partners’ as well.”

“But we had an agreement,” Kim reminded him calmly. “I bring you Mesa Verde, you allow me to do PD work.”

“An agreement for which you have taken a lot of leeway, it seems to me,” Rich said sharply. Internally, Kim flinched. Externally, she did her best to put on a face that did not reflect the guilt she was feeling. “And I have granted you this gladly, but this,” he accusingly pointed at the newspaper, “I cannot stand by and let happen.”

“Mesa Verde is up to--” Kim began justifying herself, but Rich interrupted her. “This is _not_ about Mesa Verde.” His tone was slightly louder now, his voice carrying a little edge to it. “Look, Kim, we support your PD work because, frankly, it’s good for our reputation. Some low-key defense work, helping the less fortunate, that’s great PR. As long as it’s small stuff. A kid stealing his neighbor’s necklace to buy an X Box. Or a young mother forgetting to pay her parking tickets. Relatable people who didn’t know better.”

“I find Troy very relatable,” Kim responded calmly. _You don’t know his reasons_ , she thought. _I cannot tell you, but I know._ “He’s just very… misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood?” Rich echoed, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Jesus, Kim, he killed a woman!” His cheeks were beginning to flush.

Kim shook her head. “No, he didn’t. That paper is really speculating.” Not that it mattered right now, but it was important to Kim to make that distinction.

Rich frowned. “How do you know?”

“He told me,” Kim stated coolly.

“And you _believe_ him?” Rich flustered, exasperatedly running his hands through his hair and messing up his perfectly coiffed waves.

“Yes, I do,” Kim replied matter-of-factly.

Rich sighed deeply. “Be that as it may.” He shook his head, clearly annoyed at her stubbornness and exhausted from having to defend his standpoint to her, his employee. “If I’m honest, the truth doesn’t matter. What matters is what people perceive to be the truth. And people see a thug who would do better locked away. People would feel  _safer_ knowing he gets locked away. And you—and by extension, the firm—is now threatening this safety. You have to understand what that does to our reputation.”

Kim understood indeed, but she did not feel as though that should be the point of the argument. “Troy has the same right to a defense as anyone else,” she reminded Rich stubbornly.

Rich closed his eyes for a moment before he responded. Kim was not sure if he was summoning his strength or fighting the urge to yell at her. “That is not up for debate here, although, in a case as gruesome as this, even that might be...” He chose his next words carefully. “Morally questionable.”

“The constitution would disagree with you on that,” Kim retorted passionately. She barely recognized herself. Her behavior was absolutely reckless. But something in her made it impossible for her to back down. So she raised her head an inch higher and added, defiantly, “And so do I.” _Did you know that you have rights? The constitution says you do!_ She pushed the memory of Saul’s low-budget commercial aside.

Rich grabbed the newspaper again and shoved it at Kim, his finger repeatedly tapping on the article so hard it created a sound like knocking on his desk. “This is not about the constitution! This is about--”

“About what?” Kim hissed heatedly.

Rich reacted as if she had slapped him. His entire body clenched, he jerked back, and let out a long, worrisome breath of air.

It was at that moment that Kim knew she had gone too far.

“What happened to you, Kim?” Rich suddenly asked, his tone weary and carrying a deep, irrefutable sadness. “God, why are you so angry?”

She wanted to react a thousand different ways. She wanted to stand up and storm out, she wanted to break down in tears and promise to drop the case, she wanted to apologize and swear never to do defense work again and focus solely on Mesa Verde from now on, no matter how much she detested it. She wondered how Jimmy would have reacted in Rich’s stead, if they had reopened Wexler McGill, but even here, at her lowest, Kim knew that she had made the right choice in coming to Schweikart & Cokeley, even as she witnessed it turning into the wrong choice right before her eyes.

Kim pushed her shoulders back and looked at her boss, her mentor, her friend. “You cannot ask me to drop the case,” she told Rich, her voice small and defiant. “I am so sorry. But I am all he’s got.”

The look of sheer disappointment on Rich’s face nearly broke her heart. For a second,  Kim thought he would banish her back to doc review, but then she remembered that Rich wasn’t Howard and that she was no longer at HHM. At that moment, it did not feel much different.

The memory of her sprinting down the Hamlindigo blue hallways after handing in her resignation, rushing to keep Mesa Verde, suddenly caught up with her. It was replaced by a different memory, of her writing Howard a check for her law school tuition. Then other memories burst into her mind: yelling at Chuck although she knew he was right to accuse Jimmy of tampering with the address, manipulating Chuck at the bar hearing, helping Jimmy fake mourning for his brother. And then memories from before all that: leaving AJ in the middle of the night with no explanation, pawning her engagement ring to have enough money for the first few months’ rent before getting the job in the mail room, taking two years after her disappearance to tell her family she was in New Mexico, never responding to the letter her best friend from high school had sent her all those years ago. Lying to Jimmy about taking the job at Schweikart & Cokeley. Not sharing with him that she had yelled at Howard after he had unloaded his guilt over Chuck’s death on him. Sneaking out of the apartment in the middle of the night to fly to Dallas. And feeling so horribly forsaken in that hallway, watching Jimmy walk away from her for good and returning as Saul.

And Kim realized that her past was nothing but burned bridges, and that the only way to move on was to move forward.

She looked at Rich, her exterior calm and collected, within her a hurricane of emotion, and cleared her throat to prevent her voice from shaking. “I think it is best for all of us if I quit,” she said with all the dignity she could muster and rose to stand on shaking legs. “Thank you for everything, Rich.”

Before he could respond, Kim turned around and walked out of the office, restraining herself so she would not run, her heart beating as if she was sprinting. Calmly, dignified, she let her feet carry her to her car, opened the door, and got in.

Then, she pressed her face into her purse and screamed.

~ ~ ~

It still took her three days to call.  And yet a part of her had always known. From the moment Gus had first mentioned a possible working relationship. A part of her had known she would say yes.

But even as Kim  had been driving away from Schweikart & Cokeley, never to return, she  had been hesitant. On the one hand, she was free. Finally. Now that she had quit, she allowed herself to realize how caged she had felt there. How little she had cared for  banking law . But there were doubts, too; of course there were. Paige and Kevin had never deserved any of this. Kim was ashamed she had let it come so far. Above all, she wanted to apologize: to everyone at Mesa Verde, to Rich, to Viola, to Howard, to Chuck. But that, at least, was impossible.

Kim did what she had always done  and simply carried  on. A nd a s she struggled to find her footing again  while the world was spinning out of control around her, something miraculous happened: she found calm in the eye of the hurricane her life had become. Suddenly, the stakes were higher than they had ever been, and now she realized how wrong she had been to have been terrified of it. On the contrary: it was as if someone had amplified her life. Colors seemed more vibrant, emotions more intense, possibilities more endless. Every breath seemed to clean her slate anew and lie it out before her like a blank canvas, hers to mold and shape and make her own.  In the mornings she left the apartment like she had always done, and Jimmy naturally assumed she was going into work. Kim had not told him she hat quit yet. She did not know why. She knew she would eventually. But right now it was her little secret, and the days were her own. She spent her mornings having breakfast in cozy diners and wandering aimlessly through Albuquerque, browsing antique shops and buying pastries from quaint bakeries.

But Kim knew it would not last; she did not want it to. Thirteen days after her dinner with Gus,  she retrieved the  drop phone from her lock box with shaking fingers. There was only one number on speed dial.

Waiting for someone to answer seemed to take hours. Then, finally, Kim heard a voice. “Los Pollos Hermanos. How may I help you?”

_It’s the wrong number._ Kim did not know whether to laugh or cry. Somehow, Gus must have programmed his number in wrong before handing her the phone, and now she had called a fast food chain. Maybe he had accidentally switched some digits. Or forgot a zero somewhere. Either way. It was the wrong number. She had no way of reaching out to him. It was over.

“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice, warm and kind and patient, the epitome of customer service.

Kim quickly caught herself. “Yes, sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

“No need to apologize, ma’am,” the other woman said. “I wish you a pleasant day.”

Kim did not know how long she stared at her bedroom wall after she had hung up the phone. There was only one question that truly mattered.  _What now?_ But she did not feel like thinking about that. She just felt like looking at her wall, doing little more than breathing. It was oddly relaxing. Maybe that was why some people meditated. Her past was in ruins, her future uncertain. There was nothing but an infinite present.  She would have stared at her wall longer, but eventually the need to go to the bathroom snapped her out of her state.

Kim had once read that menial tasks, tasks that did not require much thought, were a virtual reset for the mind. Not challenged by the task at hand, ones thoughts wandered freely, made connections and came to conclusions with almost no effort.  Now, this theory  was proven right.

Mind still blissfully empty, Kim had reached for the bar of soap and began washing her hands when, out of nowhere, the realization had hit her. Kim’s head jerked upwards and she stared at her reflection in the mirror, and suddenly the irrefutable knowledge was so vivid it might as well have been  shouted to her .

She stared at herself in the mirror and gave herself an approving smile. Her reflection smiled back. Kim allowed herself a moment to look at that woman before her, trying to see her as if for the first time. The years had left their mark in the small wrinkles around her eyes, but Kim thought she carried them with grace. Her eyes were deep and wise, reflective of every lesson she had learned along the way. But there was something else in them, too, a sparkle. Kim smiled fondly. The last time she had seen this sparkle was when it had been reflected in Jimmy’s eyes, every time they had pulled a con. Now, she sparkled on her own. She did not need him. But she finally felt comfortable admitting to herself that she wanted him, flawed as he was. After all, she was flawed, too. Her lips, still twisted into a rare and beautiful smile, parted when she said the words aloud. “Los Pollos Hermanos is his front operation.”

~ ~ ~

She had the  curly fries and sat in a corner booth. So this was it. Kim had had Los Pollos Hermanos a few times before, but she had never actually sat down inside the restaurant. Mostly, someone from her office had gone out for an emergency dinner when they were buried deep in a case and returned with buckets of wings  and drumsticks and loads of fries .

Kim chewed slowly, forcing herself to relax. Waiting for Gus was agitating. But the woman on the phone had said he would come. She just hadn’t said when. Kim wondered if she should have brought a book.

But just as she reached for the last curly fry, she felt someone step closer, and when she looked up, she saw into the face of Gustavo Fring. Today, he was wearing a soft yellow shirt accentuated with a dark blue tie, but his smile was as kind and hollow as ever.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?” he asked her and reached for the tablet in front of her.

Kim smiled back, uncertain what to say. “It was perfect, thanks.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Gus responded casually. “Would you like anything else?”

“Yes, I would,” Kim said instantly.

For the fracture of a second, she thought she sad the ghost of a smile descent upon Gus’ lips. “I would be delighted to take your order,” he replied in his friendly tone. “But if you would like to freshen up before, the bathroom is right down this hall.” Suddenly, his eyes locked in hers, just for a moment, before he pointed in the direction. Then he smiled at her once more, turned around, and  carried her empty tablet to the nearest trash can. After, he  walked down the hallway he had just pointed out to her.

Kim waited a few moments. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. But there was also an eerie calm that had befallen her, and a budding feeling of excitement.

She found the bathroom, but did not enter. Instead, she sneaked a quick glance over her shoulder and, when she saw no one  was looking , walked past the bathroom towards another door, at the far end of the corridor. A door that said  _staff only_ .

Feeling very sure, Kim raised her hand and knocked. As she had expected, Gus’ voice answered. “Yes?”

She pushed the door open and found herself in a small, yet functional office. Old promo boards were leaned against the walls. In a corner, more shirts and ties just like the ones he was wearing were hanging on a clothes rail. The only other piece of furniture was a small desk, on it a telephone and a computer screen. When Kim entered, Gus rose out of the imposing leather chair behind the desk and gestured at one of the less impressive looking  ones  in front of the desk. “ Kim. I am glad to see you.  Please. Sit.”

Kim sat and folded her hands under the table, pressing them hard against each other to regain some feeling of control. Her palms were sweaty. She was glad Gus had not shaken her hand. Just to be on the safe side, she discreetly began wiping it against her skirt  to dry it .

“I assume you have come with an answer?” Gus asked and leaned in, looking both reassuring and intimidating.

Kim nodded to buy herself some time to steady her voice. “Yes, I have.” She hesitated, giving herself one last chance to change her mind, to get up, to flee. When she found  that she did not want to, she continued. “I’m in.”

For the first time, Gus’ smile seemed sincere, if only for a second. “I am thrilled to hear this,” he said calmly, collectedly, just as she had expected him to react.

“Under one condition,” Kim added, before the nerve could flee her.

Gus scratched his chin deliberately. “Yes?”

“I want to be able to work any PD case outside our arrangement.”

His  eyes rested on her face for a moment, and Kim was not sure if he was simply thinking about her condition or studying her. Probably the latter. She forced herself to hold her poker face. Her feet wanted to scurry, her hands wanted to scratch her nose or push a nonexistent loose strand of her out of her face, anything to bring some distance between his lingering gaze and herself. But Kim kept perfectly still and held his gaze, on her lips a confident smile. She was not afraid of Gus. Maybe she should be. Or maybe she had always been destined to sit right here and accept his offer. Not that she believed in destiny.

After a few moments that felt like hours, Gus nodded slightly. “I assume this is in regard to Mr. Troy Collins,” he stated calmly.

Curiously, Kim found herself breathing a laugh. She was not surprised Gus knew. If anything, it was nothing short of what she had expected of him. “Yes,” she told him.

Gus nodded kindly. “I accept your condition. I believe this leads us to the matter of your payment,” he carried on business-like. “My suggestion is to pay you  two hundred and fifty thousand US dollars a month. I will of course reevaluate this sum regularly and increase it based on your merit. Is this acceptable to you?”

“Very acceptable.” Kim did not even have to fight to contain her excitement. The number seemed so abstract at this point. She could not even fathom how much money this was.

“I trust you understand why I do not have a written contract for you,” Gus said. “But make no mistake, Kim. I do consider myself bound to the promise I am giving you.”

“And I as well,” Kim responded and filled in the blanks in her mind. _That means from now on, if I do anything to breach this contract… I don’t even want to know what happens to me then._ The thought did not scare her.

“Good,” Gus smiled a mechanical yet comforting smile again. “Would you like the money in cash? Alternatively, I could set up an account on the Cayman Islands.”

“No,” Kim said firmly and reached into her purse to pull out a small, inconspicuous card. “If possible, I would like the money wired though here.”

Gus took the card and read it, his face a perfect mask that hid whatever he might have been thinking in that moment. He read aloud. “Ice Station Zebra Associates?”

Triumph surged through her veins.  Kim had set it up a few days ago, but it felt as if it had not truly become real until Gus had said its name. “It’s my loan out,” she explained.

“Very well,” Gus said and carefully placed the card in his breast pocket. “I hope you understand that I cannot make any promises. I will have my associate look into the matter. I must ensure this money cannot be traced back to me. 

“Feel free,” Kim replied confidently. “It won’t be.”


	13. Friday, April 23, 2004

Kim had been to a lot of parties at law firms, and they all seemed to follow the same routine. The polite small talk with other lawyers, half networking, half an attempt to pass the time. The fancy appetizers served by elegant waiters and placed on fine napkins before being eaten in delicate bites. The smooth jazz pouring out of hidden speakers in a low volume.

This party was nothing like that.

The first difference Kim noticed was the other guests. For one, she  k new hardly  anyone of them. Instead of the usual attorneys and DAs and the occasional judge, there were men in track suits, women in high heels and short skirts, men covered in tattoos, women  with lip rings and bellybutton piercings. And one familiar face. “Huell?”

“Kim! Good to see you!” Her former client beamed at her and pulled her into a tight hug. Kim gladly let it happen. Despite his generally grumpy attitude, Kim knew that Huell could be a very sweet person. She had defended him a few months earlier, when he had been on trial for assaulting a police officer while trying to protect Jimmy. Kim remembered the case in vivid detail, if only for her emotional state during it. Her relationship with Jimmy had been colder than ever in the weeks leading up to the case. Then Jimmy had come to ask her for help with Huell’s defense. Kim had said yes, as always, and had once again cleaned up Jimmy’s mess without complaint. Only this time, she had cleaned it up with a con. The DA had inevitably dropped the case, and it had been a rush of sheer ecstasy… a rush unlike anything she had felt practicing law before, a rush that had instilled in her an insatiable hunger for more. And on top of it all, she shared the triumph with Jimmy. It was proof, admissible-in-court proof, that together they were unstoppable. Kim did not know if Jimmy had taught her well, or if she had always had it in her, and he had just brought it to light. Either way, she could not have done it without him. He had always made her life so much better, so much more exciting. She had never told him that, but after Huell’s case was dropped, she showed him… first in the hallway outside the courtroom, then in her parked car, and then in their bed. Twice.

They had had their ups and downs, even after that glorious afternoon, not least when Jimmy decided to change his name without telling her. But no matter what he threw at her, Kim never could have imagined living her life without him. He was like a drug she could not quit. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was madness. Probably a little of both.

Today, at the opening of Saul’s new law firm, she could not help but be proud of what he had accomplished. It was tacky, and trashy, and his clients looked shady as hell. But it was his.

Jimmy stood at the far end of his office, being Saul. He was wearing a bright suit in a color Kim could only describe as light maroon, matched with a turquoise shirt and a tie with an almost violently colorful pattern. He looked like the embodiment of a migraine, but his guests did not seem to mind. They shared laughs with him, clinked beer bottles, and  looked as if they were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Huell was no exception. When he had released her from his hug, he offered her a drink. Kim chose a beer and he retrieved it from a cooler in the corner, moving about the office as if he was very familiar with the place. Kim noted just that. “Seen it couple times,” Huell replied in his usual short and precise way to communicate. “My new office, too.”

Kim  screwed up her face. “Your new office?”

“Head of security,” Huell nodded and turned around so she could read the back of his jacket, which proclaimed just that in bold letters. Kim grinned. She doubted there was more than one person responsible for security, but it seemed just like Jimmy to create an illusion. Already a little warm and fuzzy from the beer, Kim felt a wave of fondness for her boyfriend wash over her.

“I’m glad you’re on board,” she told Huell, and she meant it. It was reassuring to know there was someone here who had Saul’s back.

Huell nodded, clinked his beer bottle against hers as a goodbye, and filtered into the crowd.  Kim let her gaze wander through the office. It was a good party, she had to admit. There were a couple of pizza boxes stacked on top of each other on a table, and someone had hung a few streamers from the ceiling. The music had a catchy beat, and some of the guests were nodding along while carrying a conversation. Across the room, Kim spotted Francesca, her old office manager. Saul’s new one. She was in conversation with a man with a snake tattoo on his face, looking both interested in what he had to say and slightly terrified. Kim made a mental note to talk to her later. First, she wanted to use  the moment to sneak a cigarette in the alley behind the office.

She leaned against the wall, like she always did, and lit up. She had just put her lighter back into her purse when the door opened and someone stepped out to join her. 

“Hi, Saul,” Kim said, tasting his name on her lips. It did not feel as foreign as she thought it would.

He gave her a crooked smile. “Please. For you, I’ll always be Jimmy.”

Kim took another drag off her cigarette and remained quiet. She would not have known what to say.

He let himself fall against the wall next to her, like he always did. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Tonight, the silence felt cozy and intimate, and Kim comfortable enough to look at the man beside her without speaking. He looked tired; she knew how hard he had worked to make this night possible.  After all, Kim knew how tiresome it could be to start a law firm. But there was undeniable excitement emanating from him that was pure and infectious.  It only seemed amplified by his garish suit: the form all business, the colors unhinged shindig. She put the cigarette between her lips again, but before she could inhale he had reached over and pulled it out of her mouth to allow himself a drag. Years ago, when he had begun doing it, she had hated it. Now it was the most treasured form of intimacy they shared. After one drag, he put the cigarette in her mouth again. For a brief moment, Kim could taste him on the filter. She breathed in and took the cigarette between her fingers again. “I think it’s the suits,” she told him.

“What is?”

“That make me want to call you Saul.”

He shifted on his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. “Look, Kim, I… You don’t have to.”

Kim shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. As long as I get to call you Jimmy when we’re at home.”

He smiled, more hesitant than she would have liked. Kim decided to change gears. “Hey, I have a gift for you.” She threw the cigarette on the ground and  stepped on it, reveling how comfortable she finally felt in her leather pumps. Kim pulled out the gift and handed it to him. 

“Actual wrapping paper,” he noted with a smirk. “Wow, I feel honored.”

“Shut up,” Kim told him grinning. “Open it.”

He did as she said and revealed his yellow tumbler that she had once given him with the word’s “World’s 2 nd best lawyer” on it. Now, she had added an “again.”

He held it in his hand and for a moment, he just stared at it, as if it was so incomprehensible that she had carried this little reminder of their shared history into their future. He took a breath, as if to say something, then shook his head and laughed softly before finally raising his head to look into her eyes. On his face was an expression of mock disappointment, but his lips were twirled into a sly smirk. Kim arched her eyebrows and repeated what she had said the first time she had given him the mug. “Just keeping it real. But there’s more to it. Open it.”

Saul threw her a suspicions look and  did as she said. He pulled out the piece of paper and read in in the dim light of the nearby street lantern. “Ice Station Zebra Associates.”

Kim felt that familiar surge of adrenaline again as she heard the name being spoken aloud. “It’s a check,” she said a little breathlessly. “For Francesca’s salary.”

Saul stared first at her, then at the check in his hand, then back at her again. “Jesus, Kim, I—What is this?”

“It’s your new loan out.” Kim’s voice was reverberating with the sheer joy she felt. She had brought this into the world, she alone, and that was sweet enough. But now she got to share it with Jimmy, and that was even sweeter. “I founded it,” she told Saul, then corrected herself. “Well, technically, Giselle did.”

He still looked at her, on his face a whirlwind of emotions: confusion, pride, joy. Kim thought he was probably just as turned on as she was. Before her thoughts carried her further, she decided to elaborate a little. “F rom now on, all your transactions, they go through  here. ” She pointed at the check again, still clutched in Saul’s hand. “ It’s pretty self-explanatory, but I’ll give you the details about everything. It’ll help you evade taxes, launder money, pretty much do everything you need it to.”

“And… why?” He was at a loss for words, for the first time since she had known him. Kim could read in his eyes how happy he was, but she knew that he still feared there was a catch to it, that this was not as good as it looked.

“I told you, Francesca’s salary has to be unimpeachable,” she reminded him. “With this loan out, it will be.”

Saul nodded slowly, still clearly hesitant to believe this was real. “And the  money, what, is that— is  that from the guy we scammed at the bar? Who invested in our online dating service?”

The memory of that guy sent a shiver down Giselle’s spine. “No,  that’s my money. You can pay me back whenever.”

He exhaled audibly, his eyes roaming her face in search for security. “K im, I don’t know what to say… Are you sure about this? I mean, if this comes back to bite you in the ass, that’ll make the folks at M esa Verde pretty pissed.”

It was the moment she had been waiting for. “Yeah, well… Mesa Verde  isn’t my client anymore,”  she said with a triumphant smirk.

Saul’s confusion was writ large across his face. “What?”

“You are looking at New Mexico’s newest public defender,” Kim proclaimed confidently.

“Public defender?” Saul echoed in a hollow voice. “Kim, are you serious? You’re the best of the best, and you take a job that pays, what, 60k a year?”

Giselle smiled mischievously. “T here are… extenuating circumstances.”

“What is that supposed this mean?” Saul asked in a high-pitched voice. For a moment, she feared she was giving him a headache, with all these revelations coming at him at merciless speed. By now his guests had to be wondering where he was. Saul had begun to sound a little flustered. Maybe she should have told him at home, where he could lie down. _With me on top of him._

“Just… don’t worry about it, okay?” Giselle smiled at him confidently, hoping he would believe her. “I’ll be fine.”

Saul just looked at her, every bit as confused.

“Let’s just say… I found a large bag of money by the railroad tracks.”

He still stared at her in disbelief, as if he was seeing her for the first time. “What, are you in the mafia now?”

Giselle laughed, giddy with joy. Everything was so perfect. “ Well… I’ve finally found the pool I wanna float in,”  she responded vaguely. It was so much fun to keep him in the dark . “Besides, once Saul Goodman and Associates is up and running,  I’m  gonna get filthy rich off you.  Giselle wi ll take  1 5% for every transaction  she  handle s for you.”

He finally  broke into  a laugh  as well , his eyes warm and caring as they ha d  n o t been in months. “Gold digger.”

She giggled and playfully punched him in the arm. “ Gold digger? Hah! Given how much I know about banking law, this is the deal of your lifetime.”

The confusion on Saul’s face had given way to touched disbelief. He looked at her, his face lit up with  affection . “Kim,  I don’t know what to say…”

“Say yes,” she simply replied. “It really is that simple. I promise you.”

First his lips parted into a wide grin, then his head slowly nodded. Then, he spoke. “Yes.”

No word had ever filled her with more  bliss .  Giselle’ s eyes found his, and for a perfect moment the world around them seemed to vanish until it was just him and her, embarking on this crazy adventure together.

She wondered if now was the time to make one last revelation, something she had never told him but that had been true for long, far longer than they had even been dating. But the words did not come, and her _I love you_ remained a ghost between them unspoken. 

Saul smiled and leaned in to kiss her. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> How will Kim adjust to her new life? And what's the secret with Troy?
> 
> Wait for Part 2 of the series to find out!


End file.
